


Wash My Guilt of Eden

by missgoalie75



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: deancasbigbang, F/M, Female Dean, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Deanna can start comprehending what had just happened – Castiel exploding, Bobby dying, <i>Sam in Hell</i> – her face has healed, Sam suddenly pops up by her side, and Bobby is alive again. Castiel, however, doesn't return, and his remains are gone, almost like he was never there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash My Guilt of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There is the mentioned suicide of a minor OC character.
> 
> Written for the [2013 Dean/Cas Big Bang](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/). [Please check out the incredible art that accompanies the fic](http://asylumbound360.livejournal.com/2918.html),, all by the lovely [asylumbound360](http://asylumbound360.livejournal.com/)!
> 
> Notes: Title is from the Joni Mitchell Song "Don't Interrupt the Sorrow." Other lyrics throughout the fic are not mine and are credited within. A special shout out to my beta Nikki, who really is an angelfish for letting me bounce ideas off her even though she hasn't watched SPN in years. Also, thank you to my friends who put up with the three-week process of writing this fic because it was kind of insane.
> 
>  
> 
> [(unnecessary accompanying fanmix here!)](http://missgoalie75.tumblr.com/post/61361645095/wash-my-guilt-of-eden-a-cisgirl-dean-centric)

Deanna had tried to stand up, but her legs had given out as soon as Sam said, "It's okay, Dee," so she crawls, her arms shaking as her face throbs with every pound of her heart against her rib cage and even though she saw the rings glow red, they're unbearably cold in her hands.

Her mouth is a bloody, swollen mess – some teeth are loose and blood has coagulated in her throat, making her wheeze and unable to speak (cry) and maybe it's for the best.

Everything in her is screaming _comebackcomebackCOMEBACKCOMEBACK_ and autopilot is trying to take over, thinking out logistics of how to move Bobby and hide Cas' remains and she's such a twisted, _sick_ son of a bitch. She squeezes her good eye shut, her grief all consuming, smothering, but –

She whips her head to the side and she can now see out of both her eyes, Sam standing beside her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

 _Demon, shapeshifter_ , she rattles off in her head because she fucking knows the drill by now, but he's looking at her with desperation, a wild hope that he's doing a piss-poor job of squashing down because he should fucking know better by this point.

"Deanna?" he gasps. His hands are shaking as he collapses onto his knees.

She reaches over and rips the collar of his shirt down, relieved to see the tattoo still there, but she doesn't have a silver knife on her and _this can't be real_ –

He wraps his arms tightly around her, crying into her neck like he used to when he was small and having nightmares about the monsters Daddy had to face.

But the embarrassing thing is she's bawling like a baby too, so she supposes she can let him off the hook just once.

It's only when she hears a sharp inhale and heaving does she pull away from Sam, keeping a hand on his chest as she looks over to where Bobby is trying to sit up, his neck clearly unbroken. "Bobby," she exhales with a disbelieving smile.

She and Sam help each other to their feet and rush over to Bobby to help him up, even though she's sure Sam is doing all the work since her arms are shaky and weak.

She looks to the space where Castiel remains were, but all the blood, flesh, and bone are gone, as if he was never standing there, throwing a Molotov cocktail (his idea, surprisingly) and calling out "Hey, ass-butt," like the dweeb that he is.

Was?

Her eyes shift from the ground to all around her, half-expecting to find him because why the hell would _God_ heal Deanna, but not bring back Cas? She's healed from worse things.

"Maybe he's an angel again," Sam says quietly, also looking around. "Maybe he's been welcomed back to Heaven."

She exhales, squashing the growing feeling of disappointment ( _why wouldn't he tell us himself?_ ). "Yeah."

"You think God's back in town?" Bobby asks, looking up and she can see Castiel's blood on his cheek still, making her nauseous.

"I mean…" Sam trails off, palms up on either side of him before they drop to his sides. "And," he adds, gesturing towards Bobby. "Who else could it be?"

Deanna brings a hand to her once swollen eye and glances around once more.

"Guess He's doing us a solid?" Bobby half-jokes, but he sounds hopeful too.

"Since when does life ever give us _solids_?" she scoffs, but it's not as crazy of an idea as it used to be, at least right now it's not. 

Deanna and Sam follow Bobby back to his house, picking up a fuckton of alcohol along the way, and she checks her rearview mirror more often than she usually does.

**

Celebrating consists of drinking themselves into oblivion before dinner and being too drunk to go out by the time it _is_ dinner, so they just keep drinking until they pass out.

(Hey, they're all alcoholics or borderline; it's how they roll.)

**

The next morning, she wakes with a blinding headache and stumbles into the shower until the hot water runs out.

It's not until she's wiping the mirror she realizes that Cas' handprint on her arm is gone.

**

After recovering from crippling hangovers, the next few days are devoted to contacting hunters, finding out what's going on from _sea to shining sea_ and people who were cursing the Winchester name are now either trekking over to Bobby's house to buy them a drink, if they're close enough ("You're not stayin' at my place!" Bobby growls in warning), or sending drinks through the post.

(Roy and Walt are told to fuck off and if they ever bump into the Winchesters again, they better fucking run because getting shot in the chest hurts like a motherfucker, and Deanna _still_ sees red when she thinks about Sammy dead on that motel bed.)

**

Honestly, Deanna feels like more of a dick than usual because yeah, she's _thrilled_ with stopping the apocalypse and having Sam _and_ Bobby alive after it all is more than she expected (Bobby dead, Sam in Hell for eternity, and her being the last one standing, alone), but.

She keeps an ear out for the telltale flapping of wings and when she looks up from the sink into the mirror, she half-expects Cas to be standing there, too close, and greeting her with, "Hello, Deanna" in his usual gruff, monotone voice.

But there's nothing and it pisses her off – a simple, "Hey, I'm alive and got my wings back, so I'm going back to Heaven, see you whenever" would've sufficed, but Castiel has always been a dick, more so when he was a fully-fledged angel, so maybe he's just been reset to his default settings, which actually disappoints her more than anything else.

**

Rufus stops by a week later and the celebrations pick up again, which is almost a relief (no thinking involved).

**

Deanna asks Bobby at one point about a potential hunt, to get back on the road (because what else is there to do?), but activity has been quiet. Rufus even points out (with slurs abound), that demons have been disappearing left, right, and center – even crossroad demons haven't been showing up to make deals.

Sam, being equally drunk, claims that they're all scared of the Winchester duo, which Deanna drinks to.

**

At the end of the month, Deanna wakes up, convinced that she recently talked to Cas, finding out that he got held up by paperwork, or Heaven's equivalent of such things, and that he's the new head honcho in town, so he's been busy.

Obviously, it was just a dream and she shrugs it off when she brushes her teeth and throws on shoes to pick up ingredients for breakfast.

(The only thing that made her sure it was her own dream and not him dream-walking is that he smiled too brightly at her – in reality he wouldn't be capable of it.)

**

Deanna's getting restless and Sam is too, so they pack the Impala and head off, telling Bobby to let them know about a hunt.

But for now, they take out a map of the country and she asks, "Where do you wanna fuck off to, ex-antichrist?"

He grins before biting his bottom lip, suddenly unsure if he can laugh about it (she thinks he can – he jumped into the pit of Hell just to save the goddamn world; he's allowed to be inappropriate). "We can go to a beach?"

So they head to the east coast, fighting between going to Maryland or South Carolina (Sam wins because he pushes the whole 'I jumped into the Pit and was willing to spend an eternity in Hell with nobody but Michael and Lucifer for company') until she hops on I-95 South towards Charleston County.

**

Deanna hasn't owned a bathing suit since she was in southern California, thirteen years old in a sad attempt to fit in, but she buys a cheap one in a local swim shop because if they're going to have a proper vacation, she's going to go all out. She even buys sunscreen and a towel for the occasion.

(She's actually pretty grateful for the sunscreen because she can feel her face burning after an hour sitting on the beach and the last thing she wants is to have more freckles across the bridge of her nose.)

Sam, on the other hand, wears shorts and steadily gets darker and darker in the sun, not a hint of a burn on his skin, the asshole. For someone who was always so active as a kid, he's remarkably calm as he sleeps and reads on the beach all day without a single twitch.

Deanna is getting restless again halfway through day two, which is just as well because she gets a phone call from Bobby, asking if they happen to be near Florida since there's a potential vampire.

"We're on our way." She hangs up and stuffs her phone into her bag and pulls out shorts and a shirt. "Up and at 'em, Sammy, vacation's over."

Sam groans, hiding his face in his arms. "I was sleeping."

"You've been sleeping for two days – we have to hunt a vamp outside of Miami."

Sam groans again, this time louder. "That's so far."

Deanna grins. "That's why we gotta start now."

So maybe she's not one for taking legitimate vacations, but at least she tried her very best.

**

(At one point Sam asks about her missing handprint and she's flippant about it, but it's easier to focus on the fact that she can wear sleeveless shirts again without getting weird looks than dealing with the reality that there's nothing here proving that Cas was _here_ , which is bullshit.)

**

"I'm going to _kill_ Bobby," she growls as they watch a lock of hair go up in flames. She's rubbing the back of her head, bruised when she was thrown against the wall by a very pissed of _spirit_.

"Oh come on, he knew a spirit breaking people's legs a few states away wouldn't get you off your ass right away, even though you were dying to get a move on. You're just pissed that he knows you too well," Sam says, smiling.

"Doesn't Bart-whoever live around here, why didn't he take care of it?" she grumbles, turning her back to the flames and heading towards the Impala.

"Bobby probably told him to sit it out," Sam answers, nudging her arm. "Come on, Dee, am I going to have to deal with your grumbling now?"

"Yeah, until we get to South Dakota and I take a swing at Bobby!"

**

She knows Sam is more than a little surprised that they're going straight back to Bobby's but she doesn't know what else to _do_ – she hates traveling without a purpose, she did that too much after Sam left for college and it's like a ruined orgasm – wanderlust satisfied but in the worst way, leaving her more frustrated than before.

**

Deanna's cutting her fifth apple, taking her time to make sure all the pieces are the same size when she hears, "I was almost convinced you were a bloke, but that apron really does wonders for your image."

The knife misses Crowley's head by an inch and embeds itself in the wall behind him.

"Now that's no way to treat a visitor," he says with an exaggerated frown.

"What the fuck do you want?" Deanna demands, hand twitching for her knife to throw at him again.

"Just checking in. Curious to see how you're taking your reprieve."

She narrows her eyes at him in confusion. "Reprieve?"

He rolls his eyes. "Surely you've noticed it's been _all quiet on the Western front_?"

She snorts, turning her back to him and picking up another knife to use. "I doubt _you_ have any power over that."

"Be careful, love, you're talking to the new King of Hell."

She freezes mid-cut, whipping her head to stare at him. "Bullshit," she retorts, but she still gets a chill up her spine.

Crowley just smirks at her before looking around the kitchen with unconcealed distaste, until he blinks and his expression changes to one of surprise. "The angel isn't here."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I thought demons didn't care for angels."

He doesn't answer her, but takes a few steps closer to her. She brings her hands behind her to buff her back hitting the counter, looking at ease even though she felt one of her hands tremble a second ago.

He then shrugs, looking around the room again. "Well, maybe he's laboring away like a good little soldier in Heaven. Hell is going through a reorganization, so it's just as well that Heaven is too. Although I doubt Heaven has the numerous blood and flesh stains we do." His face breaks into a slow grin. "You'd hardly recognize the place, Deanna, but I'm sure I can arrange a visit for you, if you'd like."

She exhales through her nose sharply, locking her arms to stop them from shaking. "I don't know, God seems to be playing Daddy again – maybe He'll just obliterate your existence if I pray _real_ hard."

There's fury in his face but there's also fear because he _must_ know what happened that day. She smirks triumphantly.

"Or maybe Heaven has had enough of their rebellious angel and took him back to punish him," Crowley suggests dismissively. "Making enemies of archangels is a nasty business."

"Like you'd have the balls," she snaps, but now that he's said the words, brought them into the open and out of the recesses of her mind, she can't stop imagining it.

"More like the idiocy," he quips. "Well," he stretches out his arm to reveal his shiny, no doubt expensive, watch, "I believe our time is up. Much work still needs to get done. Cheers." He gives her another smirk before disappearing.

There's a ringing in her ears and her breath is rattling in her chest and before she knows it, she's rushing out the door, which slams behind her as she strides across the yard and through the rows of cars.

"Cas?" she calls out, looking up. " _Castiel_ ," she screams this time. "You better be fucking listening to me and you _better_ be getting the fuck out of Heaven because this is just –" She takes a deep breath, her hands curling into fists. "If you were brought back, then you should be able to leave, right? Like you used to. So." She licks her bottom lip and waits.

And waits.

She clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes shut. "Cas, please –" she stops herself short because there are those words again, wanting to claw themselves out of her throat and she _won't_ go there, she _won't_.

( _comebackcomebackCOMEBACKCOMEBACK_ )

She finds it hard to breathe and soon the dirt is digging into her knees as panic and guilt sets in, the one fucking constant over the past year – her guilt over Cas getting fucked over because she and Sam kept failing at every turn.

By the time she catches her breath, she notices water drops in the dirt and it takes her a few seconds to realize she's crying.

She quickly wipes her face dry and she must look psychotic, covered in dirt and shaking, and she's close to screaming again, demanding Heaven to stop torturing Cas because wasn't he tortured _enough_ this year? Being so much less than he was? Experiencing the worst of humanity, the thing he was so determined to save despite the bad and the ugly? There are also threats on the tip of her tongue: she'll go up to Heaven herself, grip him tight and pull him down, down, and for what?

What's Cas' _grand prize_ in all this?

She looks across to Bobby's house and thankfully none of the lights are on, so hopefully they didn't hear her and her embarrassing lapse in judgment.

**

Sam is shifting in his chair at the table, bringing up a spoonful of cereal to his mouth before putting it down in the bowl again, huffing.

"Spit it out," Deanna demands, looking down at the paper to scan for any potential hunts with narrowed eyes – the headache she woke up this morning, despite having taken painkillers, hasn't gone away yet.

"Dee," he starts softly and she _knows_ he's going to say something that's going to push her buttons. "I heard you last night. Calling for Cas."

She clenches her jaw and turns the page of the paper. "Sorry if I woke you," she responds calmly.

"No, Dee, that's –" Sam exhales. "Do you really think Heaven is holding him hostage or something?"

She looks up at him and he's clearly worried, chewing on the inside of his cheek and his eyes soft with concern.

She doesn't want to try figuring out if it's all for Cas, or if it's for her too, so she says, "Crowley popped in last night while I was – _fuck_. The pie," she gets out of her chair and looks towards the sink, the cut up apples gone. "Shit, what a fucking waste. I'll have to go to the market again."

" _Crowley_ was here?" he repeats, body tense as if Crowley is going to pop in at any second.

She waves dismissively. "He's reorganizing Hell and too busy for the likes of us. Or something."

He relaxes, a confused furrow of his brow passing his face before he shrugs and says, "Bobby's going out anyway – he can pick up some more. He's buying a book from some guy on the border of North Dakota and Canada. It's supposed to be about angels, maybe." He pauses. "Maybe there's something in there that could help."

"With what?"

"I don't know, like, maybe finding a summoning spell that we can do?"

"A summoning spell," she repeats dubiously.

"Well, yeah! Think about it, demons are forced to come when summoned, no matter what, so, what if there's a spell that's the same for angels? Maybe we can free Castiel from wherever he is," Sam continues, getting more excited by the second and she takes comfort in it. If Sam's excited, then there has to be hope for something to work, right?

**

When Bobby arrives with the book late at night, Sam immediately takes it and locks himself in his bedroom, a determined glint in his eyes that hasn't changed throughout the years.

At five in the morning, Deanna checks up on him, finding him passed out with his head in the middle of the book. She takes care lifting his head and putting the book away, slipping a pillow under him so he can be more comfortable.

She almost thanks God that Sam can continue living, but she still has nightmares about watching her brother jump into the hole and never coming out, so she just runs her hand through Sam's hair once before leaving him to sleep.

**

"Hey, Dee, listen to this," Sam calls from Bobby's desk, his index finger resting somewhere on the open page. He had woken up at seven in the morning to continue. "Apparently if the right sigils are placed in a church, it can act as sort of a, well. It's almost like megaphone, so your prayers will be _louder_ , so to speak. So Heaven will _definitely_ hear you." He straightens his back and looks at her. "Maybe we can try doing that? Break into the local church at night?"

She shrugs and rubs her aching temples, not really too hopeful on the idea because Cas always fucking came when she called, so what's the point if her _callings_ (they're not prayers, damn it) are louder?

But she just says, "Do we need to use blood for the sigils or is spray paint good?"

**

Deanna is a little woozy by the time they've finished creating all the sigils and it's going to be a _bitch_ to clean up, but finally they pick a row and sit down.

"Now what?" she asks.

Sam pulls down the kneeler by their feet and he rests his knees on it, back hunched over and elbows resting on the back of the row ahead of them as he brings his folded hands to his forehead, closing his eyes.

She swallows and looks away, debating on maybe moving to another row so there can be space.

"Dee, just get on your knees."

"Kinky."

Sam scoffs and purses his mouth, keeping his eyes shut.

She exhales slowly, going down to her knees and automatically she's uncomfortable – she hates this, she's _always_ hated this and yeah, there's a purpose to it and she's not praying to _God_ at least, so that makes it better, but.

She mimics what Sam is doing with his hands and she dutifully shuts her eyes, wondering where to start.

So she rambles in her head about Sam wanting to try this and asks if his whole garrison or all of Heaven is going to hear this damn thing, and then she tells them to pay attention to Sam because he's no doubt praying something meaningful and if they want a representation on the genuineness of humanity, then Sammy's a good example.

After that she just tells Cas that he better be doing well for himself because he fucking deserves it and ultimately, she thanks him because he was her first legitimate friend she's ever really made.

She doesn't realize she's half resting against Sam until she opens her eyes for a split second, the sigils glowing a faint blue. "Sam," she whispers, "Look."

Sam opens his eyes and follows her hand, but the sigils have completely disappeared.

"They're gone," he says, surprised.

"Awesome, no cleaning up for us."

"I take it that means it worked," he continues, ignoring her.

"Wait, that wasn't mentioned in the book? What if we fucked something up?"

"We didn't – we certainly used enough blood to complete the sigils," Sam answers, giving her a look and she almost flushes. "But no, it's not mentioned. I'll go back and re-read it to make sure."

He gets to his feet and holds a hand for her to use for leverage, which she uses, tightening her hold on him when she gets dizzy.

"You really didn't have to use that much blood, you know," he tells her as they leave the church and lock the doors behind them.

"Just wanted to get it done right," she mutters.

"Give me the keys – I'll drive."

She hands them over without protesting and she spends the ride checking the side mirror, bent so she can see the backseat.

**

There's nothing in the book: no _glowing, disappearing_ sigils and there's nothing about summoning an angel like you would a demon and she can see Sam losing steam, especially when Bobby takes a crack at the book, face grim every time he looks up.

She's not too disappointed – she figured as much.

**

She wakes up and it takes her a minute to realize that no, she hasn't recently sat on Bobby's front porch with Cas, drinking beers with him trying to teach her about the constellations, but she didn't really listen well, just breathed in the calmness of the night.

She's sure there's some psycho mumbo-jumbo that Sam could tell her about _needing closure_ or some bullshit, but the dreams don't fucking help her at all.

And neither do the headaches, for that matter.

**

She fixes some of the broken down cars in the Salvage Yard to kill time and Bobby and Sam continue researching. She doesn't have the heart to tell them to let it go because she doesn't know _what_ to say in explanation. What's worse – telling them that Cas doesn't want anything to do with humanity any more and is giving them the silent treatment, or telling them that if he's trapped in Heaven, being punished, there's not a fucking thing they can do about it?

**

"Missouri," Sam says suddenly while they're watching _Dr. Sexy, M.D_. Well, _she's_ watching _Dr. Sexy_ and he's dozing off on the couch.

"What about it?" she asks, pissy because Bobby's TV or the antenna is probably on the fritz, given the fuzzy quality of the picture.

" _No_ , I mean _Missouri_ , in _Lawrence_."

"Okay, what about her?"

Sam gives her a patented bitch face. "She's a _psychic_ , like _Pamela_ was. Maybe we can get in contact with Cas _that_ way."

Her heart lurches in her chest and it disturbs her. "We're not going to _blind_ another person, Sam!"

"Of course not, but before that happened, Pamela was _talking_ to Cas – he was trying to convince her to stop. Maybe we can talk to him _that_ way, just. Stop the conjuring before he's forced to reveal himself."

She should argue it more, but it's been two weeks since their praying in the church and this is probably the last possible option.

(Besides, she fucking _misses_ him, if the increasing number of dreams is anything to go by.)

**

The drive is six hours and she tries to listen to Metallica, but eventually shuts it off, the silence stifling until Sam turns on the radio for a classic rock station after the second hour.

( _I don't know how you were diverted, you were perverted too, I don't know how you were inverted, no one alerted you_.)

**

Missouri is frowning when they get out of the car, deepening when they walk over to her.

"Well, you two have certainly grown," she says, looking between the two of them before she settles on Deanna. "Your grief is astounding."

"We lost a lot along the way," Sam answers so Deanna doesn't have to.

"Yeah, I can see them," she says, as if speaking to a slow child and it makes Deanna smile. "So, you said you have a challenge for me?"

**

Deanna can see it in her eyes – Missouri's thinking about kicking them out and washing her hands of the goddamn Winchesters – but she steels herself as she collects what she'll need for the ritual.

"This will just be a direct way to get his attention," Missouri reminds them with narrowed eyes.

"Of course," Sam answers. "We just – it's important. This is our last shot at being able to contact him."

She looks at Deanna for a few moments and then asks, "You said you _used_ to have this angel's handprint on your arm? What happened to it?"

Deanna shrugs, taking off her jacket and rolling up her Led Zep shirt so her shoulder is bare. "I don't know – I assume it happened after…everything when I was…healed."

Missouri purses her lips. "This won't be easy, but this angel's the same one who dragged your ass out of Hell, then this should still work."

"What do you mean?"

"Get over here so I can get this done."

Deanna rolls her eyes and takes Sam's hand while Missouri places a warm hand on her arm, right where the handprint used to be.

Missouri sighs. "I feel like I'm gonna regret this." But she starts murmuring an incantation. Deanna can recognize a few Enochian words, even though she doesn't know what they mean.

Eventually she closes her eyes and suddenly it feels like her arm is being _scorched_ and she's screaming and –

She's slicing open a middle-aged man, pulling out his intestines and reveling in the way he screamed on her table. She's thinking about forcing him to eat it like pasta when she feels something worse than the sun hit her eyes, almost blinding her.

The light speaks her name and it's like nails on a chalkboard with its richness and wonder and soon she's surrounded by it, being lifted and no matter how much she kicks and screams – it's resolute.

Eventually she stops fighting and she can feel herself being cleansed of Hell, even though she knows the stains are always going to be there, and there's so much –

Deanna breaks her hold on Sam's hand and covers her mouth as she runs out of the house, falling to the ground and vomiting until there's nothing but bile. Her sick is tinged black and she falls on her back to avoid looking at it. Instead, she stares up at the sky, which is such a nice shade of blue.

( _It's beautiful, and so are you…_ )

She can vaguely hear Sam calling for her, but she's too focused on the pounding of her heart, too aware of the fact that Castiel _rebuilt_ her – knitted the organs and muscles and mended bones and it's fucking _bizarre_ that the strange, clueless, dick of a being was capable of that and she never did fucking thank him for that, did she? Such an ungrateful little bitch she's always been, or maybe she's ignored it since the beginning for this reason.

"Dee?" Sam says, his voice small as he kneels down beside her, taking up half her vision. "What –"

She chokes out a sob, noticing that her face is soaked and her ears are waterlogged from her tears. "I know he didn't know me when he got me out of Hell, but _fuck me_ if he didn't love me."

It's then she realizes her cunt is _throbbing_ and she's not sure if she came already or if she's on the precipice of coming, but she hopes to Christ she didn't have this sort of reaction when Cas pulled her out of the Pit.

And then she promptly passes out.

**

She comes to on Missouri's couch, her mouth tasting like death and her nerves firing off, sensitive to the rough material of the couch and the way her jeans cling to her legs.

"Oh thank God," Sam says in relief, handing over a glass of water. "Slow."

She rolls her eyes but takes her time sitting up before taking the glass, sipping at it.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asks, directing his question more to Missouri.

Missouri sighs, getting up slowly from her chair to go into the kitchen. "I was blocked, and the conjuring rebounded, I'm assuming, hitting Deanna."

"But _why_? This was a long shot, given that she doesn't have the handprint on her anymore –"

"Because even though the handprint is gone, he still rebuilt me from the inside out," Deanna answers, drumming her blunt nails against the glass. "His dirty prints are probably all over my organs, which is disgusting to think about." She wrinkles her nose and ignores the increasing desire to bring herself off. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

(It doesn't help.)

"Okay, but, Dee – you just. You were _screaming_ , I've never heard you make that noise before," Sam tells her with so much concern it makes her grimace. "What _happened_?"

She licks her bottom lip and checks the kitchen doorway. Missouri is still busy in there, so she keeps her voice low when she answers, "I, uh…remembered Hell." She looks down at her glass. "I remember everything I did in Hell, everything. But I never quite remembered how I got out until now."

She takes another drink of water and Sam asks quietly, "Do you remember what you said? Before you passed out?"

She clenches her jaw and feels herself flushing. "Yeah."

"What did you mean?"

She chances a look at him, but there's nothing judgmental in his face, and she doesn't know if that makes it worse or not.

She considers lying to him, saying she doesn't remember, that she was delirious from the aftershocks, but he's always known her better than that, so she says, "It's stupid – I know it's not the same thing as me loving you or Dad loving Mom, but…" she shrugs. "An angel's love for… _humanity_ , or whatever, is…something," she finishes lamely, but the look on Sam's face reminds her of when he first met Castiel, excited and full of awe.

**

Missouri offers to let them stay at her house for the night, but they tell her they'll stay at the Motel 6. However, they won't say no to a home-cooked meal...

"Cheeky little shits," she mutters, but she orders them to set the table all the same.

Dinner is quiet – Deanna too busy stuffing her face because _damn_ , Missouri knows how to cook – but Missouri tells them that she hasn't sensed anything supernatural-related in months, but she thinks that's going to change soon.

"Shit's stirring again, I can feel it. I'm sure you two will be hunting again in no time."

"Well that's good, we'd be out of a job otherwise," Deanna jokes.

Sam smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

**

The next morning, Deanna wakes up with a _splitting_ headache, as if someone has been kicking her head all night.

"You've been getting a lot of headaches lately," Sam says. "I'm worried – maybe we should go to a doctor?"

"Why waste the money? Besides, they're gone by lunch," she grumbles as she takes a bite of her cheeseburger, moaning in pleasure.

"Yeah, but what happens if they get worse?" he asks, grimacing at her burger since it is ten in the morning.

"Would you stop? It's _fine_ ," she insists, savoring her burger.

**

Except June turns to July and July turns to August and eventually, the headaches do get worse.

"Oh God, what if it's cancer," Sam worries, pacing around Bobby's kitchen at eight o'clock on a muggy August night.

"It's not _cancer_ ," Deanna snaps, trying to watch TV in peace except her head is pounding and it looks like it's snowing in Seattle Mercy Hospital _goddamn it_.

"Well there has to be _something_ wrong! Nobody just has headaches all day everyday!"

"Can you _stop yelling_ , it's not helping anything!"

Sam throws his hands up and says, "Bobby, can you _please_ knock some sense into her?"

Bobby sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Deanna…"

She groans, covering her eyes with her forearm. "I hate doctors."

"Well no one _likes_ them," Bobby retorts.

"Why don't one of you be useful and get me a fucking burger or something."

"Oh great, now you're PMSing on top of it?"

"It's not _fucking_ PMS, you asshole, I'm just craving a goddamn burger!"

"You're going to get mad cow disease with the number of burgers you've been eating!"

" _Shut up_!"

"You two better shut the hell up before I kick you out!" Bobby yells, stomping off.

Sam sighs, running his hands through his long hair. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, shaking his head and staring up at the ceiling.

She squeezes her eyes shut and then feels something hit her in the stomach. "What –" she looks down and finds a bottle of sleeping pills.

"That should knock you out quick," Bobby grumbles, walking past them and back in his study, slamming the door shut.

Deanna opens the bottle and takes a pill out.

"Dee, please," Sam starts, desperate. " _Please_ go to a doctor."

"Ugh," she moans, throwing back the pill. " _Fine_." She finally gets up from the couch and goes up to her room to pass the fuck out.

**

She's standing in a gray space – it's almost light enough to be white, but not quite. She walks in a straight line, but she has no perception of how long she's walking until she hits a wall. It's different from the space all around her – it's more like opaque glass, tinted enough that she can't see what's on the other side.

At least until a dark shadow comes up in front of her, beyond the glass and starts _pounding_.

She takes a step back in shock, but steps forward again when she realizes it's not breaking the glass. She puts her hand on it and the next impact jars through her arm and suddenly, she knows what's on the other side, how could she have not figured it out _sooner_ –

Deanna wakes with Cas' name on her tongue, her head pounding in the same rhythm Cas was pounding on the glass, trying to get through.

**

"Sam, Sammy, wake up," Deanna rushes, shaking Sam.

"Wuh, Dee, what's –" Sam garbles, trying to throw her off him.

"It's _Cas_ , Sam, he's trying to get into my head," she hisses.

" _What_?" he asks, immediately awake.

"It's like – there's a barrier between us and he's been trying to break through it, _that's_ why I'm getting these headaches when I wake up – he can only do it when I'm asleep!"

He scrambles out of bed. "He's trying to dream-walk, but maybe it's too difficult to do from Heaven," he theorizes as they go over to Bobby's closed bedroom door and pound on it. "Bobby! We figured out why Dee's getting headaches – it's Cas!"

Bobby throws the door open a few seconds later, eyes wide. "Well that's a better explanation than _cancer_."

Deanna laughs and she feels _giddy_ – this is _it_ , _finally_ , after months of _nothing_ , they're finally getting somewhere.

**

"So you think this _glass barrier_ in your head is from Heaven's end?" Bobby goes over slowly, brow furrowed.

"Well, yeah. Cas has always been able to waltz in and out of my head without any searing pain. It makes sense."

"I guess…"

She ignores his hesitation and asks, "So, what are we going to do?"

"Well, clearly, your thick skull ain't helping matters," Bobby answers dryly. "But maybe Sam can go for a stroll in your dream. Two heads are better than one. Check out that barrier."

Sam shrugs. "Worth a shot."

"Good thing I have a whole stash of African Dream Root," Bobby says, slowly getting to his feet. "After that damn mess in Pittsburgh."

**

Deanna cuts off some pieces of her hair as Sam prepares the tea. Bobby comes back into the living room with a syringe full of adrenaline.

"Just in case," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"Actually give us a shot at figuring this out before going all _Pulp Fiction_ on me," she warns him, opening the bottle of sleeping pills.

Sam enters the room with a cup of tea and holds it out for Deanna to put her hair in. "That is disgusting," he complains with a shake of his head, blowing air over the surface to cool it down.

"Yeah, glad I don't have to drink that shit this time," Deanna says with a smirk, dry-swallowing the pill. "See you in my dreams, Sammy."

He rolls his eyes and starts tentatively sipping the tea with a grimace.

Deanna closes her eyes and forces herself to relax, feeling her muscles getting heavier, and heavier…and heavier…and…

**

She's back in the gray space again and it doesn't take long for Sam to pop up beside her.

"Wow, this is dull for you," he states, looking around.

"Come on," she says impatiently, grabbing him by the sleeve and leading the way through the space.

It's taking longer than it did last night, which is frustrating. Suddenly, Sam smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What?"

"It's just – you've been having headaches for _months_. Cas has been trying to contact _you_ for _months_. That's…" Sam chuckles, shaking his head again.

She narrows his eyes at him, not sure of what he's getting at, but she instantly forgets when she finally catches sight of the barrier.

"Here we go," she says, quickening her pace. "This is it."

Sam tentatively reaches a hand towards it, running his hand across the smooth surface. "But…why would Heaven do this?"

"Who knows, maybe to keep Cas from getting out of Heaven? It doesn't matter – we need to figure out how to break it down and let him in."

Before Sam can respond, the dark shadow – _Cas_ – appears on the other side.

"Cas," she exhales, placing her hand on the barrier.

When she closes her eyes, she _swears_ she can hear him call her name.

Cas begins pounding on the glass and this time, she does too: kicking and punching and her knuckles should be bleeding, bones should be broken, but she can keep going and going and this is it, they're going to break this down and she'll be able to _actually see him_ and –

"Dee, I don't know about this –" Sam says, but is cut off.

"Stop standing around like a moron and _help_ ," she demands, punching the glass and _finally there's a crack_ –

She's thrown out of her dream, gasping awake and she thinks she's screaming, but then the pain is overwhelming and she blacks out.

**

Deanna slowly wakes up and for the first time in months, she doesn't have a headache. She smiles dopily.

"Nice," she murmurs.

"Dee?"

She rolls her head on the pillow to look at Sam. "Sammy," she says, grinning.

He looks over at Bobby. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, oxycodone is strong stuff. She'll come down eventually."

"You gave her _oxycodone_? How the hell do you have that?"

"I have friends in high places."

Deanna giggles. "So do _I_."

Bobby sighs. "She'll be fine in the morning."

"I'm _so_ fine now," she insists, hand reaching out to pat Bobby's chest.

"I'll put on some _Dr. Sexy_ for you and you can fall asleep," Bobby says, shaking his head as he gently pats Deanna's cheek.

"Yay, Dr. Sexy!"

She falls back asleep again to the soothing sounds of Dr. Sexy's voice and the static of the TV.

**

This time when she wakes up, she's sober and drowsy and feeling miserable. "What the _fuck_ ," she moans, hiding her face in the pillow.

"Oh good, you're awake," Sam says in greeting. She can hear him walking from the kitchen and into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch by her legs. "I know you're going to fight this, but don't."

"Fight what."

"We have to stop trying to let Cas in through your head."

She lifts her head to stare at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dee, that barrier wasn't Heaven's creation – that barrier is _protecting_ you. Trying to break it down was _hurting_ you. When I came to and Bobby injected you with adrenaline, blood was coming out of your nose. And that was just from a _crack_. It would've killed you."

She brings a hand under her nose, but Sam must've washed the blood away.

"Bobby wasn't sure how bad your head was going to be, so he forced you to take oxycodone so you could miss the worst of it."

"Where is Bobby?"

"Probably yelling at Cas for the tenth time, telling him to back off before he kills you."

She groans and hides her face in the pillow again.

**

She's back at the wall again, Cas already on the other side. She can see the crack she made (he made?) and her throat closes as Cas presses up against it, sealing it closed.

She exhales shakily, sitting down on the ground and resting her temple against the glass. "You better not be mirroring me because it'll be really fucking lame," she warns him before telling him about the past few months, how it's been slow going, with the worst hunts being vengeful spirits because every other supernatural creature is too chicken shit to come out. "But the vamps have _got_ to be starving at this point, I don't know how the fuck _they're_ living," she rambles and she thinks she may have admitted that _things aren't the same_ without him around, or something stupid like that, but she figures she can get away with it since he can't see her or respond.

She can feel her surroundings dissolving so she ends with, "See ya, Cas," feeling fucking lame about it.

(Even though she doesn't wake up with a headache, she still has tears in her eyes.)

**

"No headache this mor – _HEY,_ that fork could've gotten in my eye, Dee!"

**

Soon enough, it seems like there are vampires in every fucking state, all of them coming out of the woodwork in a frenzy. While pinning one to the ground, she finds out that they've been stealing from blood banks, an instinct telling them to lie low.

"I feel like I shouldn't even fucking _bother_ showering at this point," Deanna yells in frustration as she tries to scrub blood off her face.

"You can't be out in public if you don't!" Sam responds outside the bathroom. "Besides, weren't _you_ the one complaining about not having any hunts?"

"Go fuck yourself!"

Eventually, the bloody month of September comes to an end and they're in Swayzee, Indiana, less than an hour away from Cicero. Sam can immediately sense what she's thinking about the morning after, so he says, "You can visit Lisa if you want, I'm going to double check everything."

So she drives to Cicero in silence, her radio giving off static and she's going to have to fix it later. By the time she arrives, it's almost three in the afternoon and Lisa's car is thankfully in the driveway.

By the time she makes it to the front door, Lisa has already opened it with a relieved expression on her face. "Oh, thank God," she says, looking Deanna up and down. "You're okay?" she asks rather than states.

"As good as can be, I guess."

"Are you here on a hunt?"

"Up in Swayzee. We finished up last night. Just thought I'd stop by."

"Sam's okay, then?"

"Yeah," Deanna answers, still relieved.

Lisa smiles. "Do you want to come in?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I was just making coffee."

Lisa steps to the side and lets Deanna walk in. It doesn't seem like anything has significantly changed – it's still looks and feels homey.

"Ben went home with a friend – they have baseball after school on Mondays and Thursdays and I drive on Mondays."

"Oh," Deanna answers, not sure if she's allowed to say if that's a shame because she would've liked to see the kid, but maybe it's for the best.

"You can sit down," Lisa tells her, gesturing towards the round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. "You still take your coffee black?" she asks as she takes out pot with one hand and grabbing two mugs with the other. Deanna checks out her ass out of habit, but she's not feeling too much.

"Yeah."

Lisa pours their coffee, splashing some milk into hers before bringing them to the table, placing Deanna's in front of her. She takes a seat across from Deanna, drumming her nails against the mug.

After a minute of awkward silence, Lisa says, "You scared the crap out of me, you bitch," with a shake of her head before bringing the mug up to her mouth and blowing air over it.

"Sorry, the apocalypse was impending."

Lisa waits for a beat, clearly hoping for a 'just kidding,' but Deanna just winks and smiles bitterly before mimicking Lisa's actions.

"Fuck me," Lisa exhales, dropping the mug onto the table and getting to her feet, heading towards the kitchen cabinets and opening one to pull out a bottle of whiskey. "Want some?"

Deanna slides her mug across the table. Lisa doesn't really pour her enough, but she thanks her anyway.

"What _happened_?" Lisa asks after a minute of silence.

Deanna sighs and places the mug down on the table. "Perhaps we should start with me going to Hell."

" _What_?"

**

By the time Deanna has finished her story, Lisa is pretty tipsy, forgetting the coffee and drinking straight out of the whiskey bottle.

"Only _you_ would somehow get an _angel_ to help you. Everyone else would've been _fucked_ ," Lisa says, rubbing a temple with a hand. " _Jesus_. I know you always thought you were bad luck, but that all sounds pretty goddamn lucky to me."

Deanna gawks at her. "Did you not hear about everyone who's died or –" she cuts herself off, clenching her jaw and looking off to the side.

Lisa tilts her head and bites her bottom lip in thought for a moment. "You still don't know what happened to him? Castiel?"

"Not really, no," Deanna answers, downing the rest of her drink and grimacing at how cold it is.

Lisa picks up the bottle for another swig of whiskey, but then puts it down at the last minute and pins her down with a stare that makes Deanna squirm uncomfortably in her chair.

"You know, for the longest time, I thought you were a lesbian in denial," Lisa starts, surprising Deanna. "I know you said you're bi, but…the way you talked about the women you've fucked and how you were more into women than men lately when we met…" Lisa trails off with a shrug. "I thought your being bi was bullshit until now."

"Okay…what made you realize it wasn't bullshit?" Deanna asks slowly, wary.

"The way you talked about Castiel."

Deanna freezes for a breath and then laughs. "Right."

"I mean the way you talked about him – you think so highly of him –"

"Of course I do, he gave up his life twice just so humans can _live_ –"

"It sounds to me," Lisa interrupts her, voice soft, "that he gave up his life because he believed in _you_ , Deanna."

Deanna looks down at the table and grins. "Nah," she says, "He may have been stupid on pop culture and everything else that comes with being a functional person, but he wasn't _that_ stupid."

Lisa stares at her like she's full of shit, which annoys her.

"Lisa, Cas isn't even a _guy_ , not really. His meat suit is a guy, yeah, but. Angels don't have _genders_ , they're not _people_ ," Deanna retorts even though, honestly, she doesn't know why she's arguing with her because at the end of the day, she likes fucking women and she likes fucking men, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of her. Besides, it's all kinds of fucked up to feel anything sexual towards an angel of the fucking Lord. She likes to think she's not totally and hopelessly fucked in the head (even though she's really a lost cause at this point).

"But you still _love_ him…on whatever level you want to accept, which I'm assuming is no level, knowing you, but you can't deny it for long."

Deanna smiles so she doesn't punch Lisa in the throat. "Well, I think it's best I leave. We want to start heading out tonight."

Lisa sighs. "Yeah, okay." She slowly gets to her feet, clearly feeling the effects of how much she drank. "It was good to see you, Deanna. If you're ever in the neighborhood, you're welcome to stop by."

Deanna's smile becomes more genuine, softer. "Okay," she says, even though she doesn't think she really will.

Lisa seems to gather as much because she brings her in for a tight, but brief hug. "Please take care of yourself."

"You too. Say hi to Ben for me."

Deanna speeds out of Cicero, rage brimming under the surface for the first twenty minutes until she's out on open road. She turns on the radio, "Can't Fight This Feeling" just starting on a station and her heart pangs at the thought of Jo.

Except two minutes into the song, the static happens and she turns the radio off in annoyance.

**

Deanna wakes up at four in the morning with her whole body flushing. She squeezes her eyes shut, echoes of her dream still within reach, how the heat of Castiel's thigh felt against hers, sitting outside in her old backyard, the way his hand cradled her face and how easily her fingers ran through his hair and his mouth –

" _Fuck_ ," she hisses, forcing herself to count sheep until the dream fades away.

**

The thing is, when Deanna was sent to that awful apocalyptic future by Zachariah, she was hyperaware of the way future Cas looked at future her, the way they bickered was a pale shadow of what it probably was, when Cas was just beginning to turn human and curious about his new aches and pains and desires.

Cas had told her on the ride to his death that he was a romantic for a hot minute, wanting Deanna to be his first everything because she was the first and pretty much only human he loved, or was capable of loving. (He doubted he was totally human anyway, so.)

He knew this was a suicide mission and he knew the Deanna who was leading them to their deaths, had long since buried anything sentimental, so he directed his intense gaze towards her. Sure, his eyes weren't as bright, bloodshot by his latest concoction of drugs because he couldn't get through his last final moments sober, but they were still painfully familiar in their intensity.

She debated about it when his gaze drifted down to her mouth – it was a shit idea, _really, really_ shitty, but –

She pulled him by the front of his shirt and kissed him, desperate and gasping at the way he moved his mouth, the heat of his tongue against hers and how he tasted like weed and whiskey and whatever crap they had for dinner. And when they finally pulled back, lips parting with a _pop_ , she absolutely _hated_ herself, the worst part being was the way her future self stared at them; there was _nothing there_.

So, when Deanna does drift towards the idea of kissing Cas or fucking Cas, she just has to think about that moment and any sort of desire disappears, leaving her with regret and disgust like rocks in her stomach.

**

Once Deanna and Sam make it back to Bobby's near the end of October, the number of hunts finally dwindling down, she finally has the time to remove the radio from the Impala, check its wirings and connections.

An hour later, she's at a loss for what's wrong – everything seems to be working, and yet, without fail, two or three minutes with the radio on, there's static, she's not getting enough –

 _Oh_.

She scrambles to get the radio back in the car, her breathing shallow until it's screwed back into place. She switches it on, some generic pop song playing and she sits through it impatiently – _one minute…two minutes…three…_  
  
It's faint at first, but the static is there. She turns the volume dial up all the way, wincing at fucking Taylor Swift blasting through the speakers, but she's too afraid to change the station.

"Hi, Cas," she says, her voice drowned out. "Sorry I'm so fucking thick," she adds with a laugh, rubbing her eyes with her hands. "But I never could understand you this way. Remember? You broke my eardrums twice?" She pauses, running her tongue over her bottom lip. The static doesn't change. "This must be whispering for you, I guess. I don't think this is going to work," she tells him, trying to focus on the grating _you are the best thing that's ever been mine_ to temper her sadness.

The static then starts to come and go, spiking her worry. "Cas?"

She strains her ear, realizing the static is getting fainter. "Mother _fucker_ ," she yells in frustration, hitting the steering wheel. "Of course this happens, it's like you're _trying_ to be dramatic, you shit."

…and fainter…

She swallows. "I already said see you around, what else can I say?"

( _comebackcomebackCOMEBACKCOMEBACK_ )

She squeezes her eyes shut and she can barely hear the static anymore. "When you can, come back, yeah?"

Crystal clear.

She exhales shakily, turning off the radio, her ears ringing with the silence.

**

She doesn't tell them about Cas – she just tells them that she fixed the radio. Faulty wiring.

**

They only stay at Bobby's for a week before they're off, a potential shapeshifter in Arizona, and then going east towards Texas, bouncing around the state for a few weeks.

One night while in a town outside of Houston, they go to a bar and she considers bringing a guy back to the motel for a few seconds, but then decides against it, the burning shot of whiskey masking the grimace.

(Although she does bring a girl back to her room, and after her heart stops racing and her sweat cools against her skin, Sarah (Shane? Sharon?) asleep on the other side of the bed, Deanna feels a little worse.)

**

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asks over Thanksgiving dinner, which actually isn't too awful this year. They've decided to splurge on a nice diner, actually eating turkey with gravy and sweet potato pie.

"I'm _awesome_ ," she answers, eating another forkful of mashed potatoes, humming happily.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam laughs, spearing a few pieces of green beans. "I mean…you haven't kicked me out of a room in over a month and you haven't demanded separate rooms in just as long."

Deanna grimaces, taking a sip of her beer. "Didn't think you cared about my sex life, Sammy."

Sam matches her grimace with his own. "I don't, just. It's not you."

She picks up the beer again and finishes it off because yeah, she fucking knows that. "I don't know, Sam, it's just _old_ ," she admits, returning her focus to her delicious meal.

They eat in silence for a few minutes and Deanna is considering on ordering two different kinds of pie because she's worth it (even though her stomach is ready to burst). Just when she waves down the waiter for the pies (worst case scenario, she can bring it back to the motel and eat it for breakfast) when Sam says, "I want a real Christmas this year."

" _What_?" Deanna gapes. The waiter comes back and she shoos him away. "But –"

"We can have it at Bobby's," Sam cuts her off, talking fast. "Get a tree and decorate it and have a real _family_ Christmas. Don't you think we deserve it?"

His face is stupidly earnest and it's like he's six again. She sighs, resting back against the booth cushion. " _You're_ gonna have to convince Bobby to put a fucking pine tree in his living room."

Sam grins and his face lights up. "Great, I will."

**

It doesn't take much convincing to get Bobby to host a proper Christmas in his house.

"Good luck gettin' a tree in here," he just says, chuckling into his coffee.

But Sam is far from being discouraged – he drags Deanna to a Christmas tree farm and everyone gives them sappy smiles, no doubt believing that they're a newly wed couple celebrating their first Christmas.

"Just pick a damn tree," Deanna hisses, glaring at the next family that smiles at them.

"Dee, try not to be the Grinch – it's Christmas! We're picking a tree together and being traditional, okay?"

Deanna scowls and follows Sam through the rows of trees.

**

They decide on a tree that's about six feet high and Deanna vehemently refused to have a tree tied to her baby, so they brought one of Bobby's beat up trucks and toss the tree into the back.

Deanna holds the tree up with Bobby as Sam tries to screw the trunk into the base. It probably takes them longer than they should and the tree definitely almost falls over twice, but eventually it stands up proudly in Bobby's admittedly run down living room.

"Do you have any ornaments?" Sam asks, rubbing his hands over his jeans, looking expectantly at Bobby.

"I think I do," Bobby mutters, heading up the stairs to the attic.

Ten minutes later, he comes down with glassy eyes, and a box in his hands.

"It's not much, a lot of 'em broke," he starts and she doesn't question him about it. "And we don't have any lights."

Sam smiles, taking the box carefully from Bobby's hands. "That's fine. Dee and I will go get them."

Deanna groans and rolls her eyes, but when they're looking at Karen's old ornaments, finding most of the Nutcracker characters and a few bulbs still in tact, she starts to feel a little excited.

(Besides, anything is better than that Christmas before she went to Hell with those pagan gods – freaky fuckers.)

**

Sam and Deanna go to a retail store and argue for almost ten minutes about what kind of lights they want.

"We should get the rainbow ones, Dee, it's fun!" Sam argues.

"I hate trees with rainbow lights – it always looks like a kid who ate too many fruit pops threw up with all the colors _plus_ the ornaments. We're getting white."

Eventually Sam concedes and picks up three rolls of white lights. "I'm only doing it because it's the most passionate I've seen you about having a real Christmas," he tells her as he rolls the cart down further to look at possible ornaments.

Deanna puts a hand on Sam's forearm. "I don't _hate_ the idea of a real Christmas," she says, keeping her voice low.

His eyes soften. "I know. It's weird, believe me, but. We deserve this normalcy – _you_ deserve it. So. Stop being surly and help me pick out some ornaments to go on the tree."

She smiles at him and playfully nudges his side. "Fine, but not too many breakable ones – let's be serious, half of them are gonna end up broken before we even get to Christmas."

**

Deanna pauses in front of the tree toppers, debating.

She's tempted to go with the star – it'll look good and it doesn't have any religious implications. But…

She remembers the porcelain angel her mom topped the Christmas tree with so long ago, burned away with everything else. The angel tree toppers here are obviously not of such quality, but they're similar enough to make her heart ache a little.

Except when she pictures Cas sitting on top of the tree, she can't stop laughing, not even when Sam finds her, looking at her as if she's nuts.

He raises his eyebrows when she tosses in an angel tree topper into the cart.

"Trust me, Sammy," she says as they walk up to the cashiers, still grinning. "I have an idea."

**

Deanna taught herself a lot of things growing up: how to cook, how to do laundry, how to put on makeup, and most importantly, how to sew, especially when they couldn't afford new clothes and had to make do with worn things.

So finding an old trench coat at Salvation Army, cutting it up, and sewing together a smaller one for the angel tree topper isn't difficult at all. She's considering on getting a marker to draw stubble on the angel's face, but the trench coat is probably enough.

**

Instead of laughing, Sam smiles fondly at the angel on top of the tree. "It's nice," he says with no sarcasm.

She swallows and looks up at it. Not as good as the real thing, but it's the closest they're going to get.

**

She goes to the supermarket and elbows moms in the aisles to get all the ingredients she needs to start cooking. She decides to bake a large ass ham to get them through a week or so, starting with Christmas Eve because there's no doubt they're going to get too trashed to even think about making or getting food.

It takes her a lot of the day to make everything, mostly because Bobby and Sam keep trying to go through the kitchen and into her space, annoying the shit out of her. They try to find a tape of Christmas music, but Bobby doesn't have any, so they make do with the radio, blasting it when Bruce Springsteen or the Beach Boys come on. Frank Sinatra comes on a few times and her heart seizes at the sadness and nostalgia on Bobby's face. She goes over to change the station when "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" plays, but he growls, "Don't you dare," so she leaves it be.

Sam gets the same look on his face when that damn Mariah Carey song comes on. She shoots him a judgmental look and he says, "This was Jess' favorite Christmas song," with a sad smile.

At one point, Sam asks, "What was Mom's favorite Christmas song?"

"'River,'" Deanna immediately answers.

He wrinkles his nose. "That's a depressing song."

She shrugs. "She liked Joni Mitchell. Don't you remember how Dad would immediately change the radio if she came on?"

"Oh, I always thought it was because he hated Joni Mitchell. Too folky for his taste."

She _is_ too folky, at least most of the time, but sometimes when Deanna is calm, she doesn't mind listening to her croon as she speeds down an open highway, the sun warm on her bare thighs.

She doesn't quite remember her last Christmas with her parents, although she does remember getting some toy cars and a stuffed bear with a green bow on it. She remembers her mom singing under her breath, _I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly_ , her voice cracking at _fly_ because the note was too high for her reach.

Eventually "River" plays on a classic rock station and Deanna hums under her breath and maybe _I'm so hard to handle, I'm selfish and I'm sad_ hit a little close to home, but overall, she's content with trying to be as normal as they can be.

Besides, every time she catches Sam looking at her with gratefulness and appreciation, she's reminded that he deserves the whole fucking world so if she can give him this and make him happy, then she's happy too.

**

On Christmas Eve, Rufus arrives with enough eggnog to last at least three holiday seasons, which is the only reason why Bobby extended an invitation in the first place.

"He makes the best eggnog I've ever had," Bobby tells Sam and Deanna as Rufus pours them all glasses.

They clink their glasses together before shooting them back.

Once Deanna finishes, she then looks to Rufus like he's the Second Coming. "Rufus. You are a Christmas miracle."

Rufus smirks. "There's no way I'm telling you what's in it."

Her face falls. "Why not?"

"It's a secret."

"Yeah, I get that, but you _have_ to tell me."

"Maybe on my deathbed. Maybe."

"You're such a dick."

He pours her another glass. "Keep on drinking, Ms. Winchester, you'll change your tune soon enough."

**

It's a good thing Sam has enough sense to hold back on drinking in the afternoon, so he's the one who heats up all their plates for dinner. Rufus is telling some insane story involving a hunt with Bobby and she thinks she spits beer all over her food in laughter at one point, but the details are a bit fuzzy.

Later on at night, while they're sprawled around the fire, she leaves to go to the bathroom and instead of joining them, she goes outside to breathe in the air, smelling of oncoming snow.

"Merry Christmas Cas," she says, smiling and oh, she is _so_ drunk. "I'd share a drink with you, but I think I'd pass out if I drink any more, so."

She looks up at the sky, at the hundreds of stars shining. "I think I would've gotten you a bunch of movies and books so you could get all my awesome jokes and references. Or maybe a new tie, but that would've been a gag gift. Like a tie with tiny dicks on it or something." A cold breeze chills her, so she crosses his arms shudders. "Sam would _definitely_ be more _thoughtful_ and get you a book about something smart or maybe music – like Mozart or something and then I would've gotten pissed because that's _my_ job." She sways a little on her feet and looks down to steady herself. "Although you probably would've bitched about how impossible it would be to have a stairway to Heaven and then I would've tried to whack you with the book Sam bought you," she adds with a smile, leaning back against the house. "That probably sounds really awful to you. You're probably thanking God that you don't have to deal with that."

Sam stumbles outside, slamming his arm into the doorway and he's definitely going to have a nasty bruise tomorrow. He's holding a glass of eggnog, which is sloshing precariously as he makes his way over to her.

"What'ryou doin' out here?" he slurs, immediately falling back against the house for support.

"Getting fresh air. Felt sick."

They both look up at the sky in silence for a minute until Sam raises his glass up high. "Merry Christmas, Castiel," he says, then bringing down his arm and drinking half the glass in one go.

He hands the glass over to her and she takes it without a word, throwing back the rest.

**

They sleep off awful hangovers for the first half of Christmas day, not bothering with each other until two in the afternoon.

"I don't think I want that eggnog recipe anymore," Deanna moans, curling up in a ball on the couch.

Sam is probably passed out again on the floor since he hasn't made a noise in five minutes.

"I think I want to forget it," Rufus says, muffled by his hands on his face, blocking out the light.

"Well snap out of it, ya idjits, it's Christmas and we should at least act like we're happy," Bobby mutters, throwing horribly wrapped gifts onto their laps.

**

That night they watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ and at one point, Bobby says, "It's a shame angels ain't like Clarence."

Sam mutters in agreement, falling asleep on Deanna's shoulder.

"I wish I could've met one," Rufus admits, sipping on the whiskey he got from Bobby. "What was the one you guys were palling around like?"

"Don't look at me, ask Deanna, she knew him best," Bobby says, eyeing Deanna.

She narrows her eyes at him before sighing, resting her head back against the couch. "He was a dick like the others. And he never got a single reference and was awkward and infuriating, but. He was one of the good ones." She pauses, looking at the TV, the picture quality not perfect, but there's no static. The bells ring, Clarence getting his wings. "One of the best, really," she adds quietly.

She ignores Bobby's stare, eyes fixed on the screen while the credits roll and advertisements for _Miracle on 34th Street_ coming up next play.

**

Rufus leaves early on Boxing Day and Sam begins reading one of the books Bobby got him for Christmas. Deanna is on Sam's laptop, scanning for a potential hunt, but it's surprisingly quiet. Maybe supernatural dicks are taking the holidays off too.

So she listens to the Joni Mitchell tapes Sam bought her (sneaky bastard she didn't even realize he left that day she was cooking) and fixes cars, freezing her ass off in single-degree weather. She's tempted to drive down south after New Year's.

When she brings it up to Sam, he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Why not. Maybe this time we can try to relax for more than two days," nudging her arm.

"Don't hold your breath."

**

Bobby pretty much kicks them out of his house after New Year's and tells them to not come back for a month or two. He's a little pissy since Deanna drank too much and vomited on his porch (hey, at least she made it outside).

(She was in a shit mood all day due to nightmare involving Cas and she didn't feel like sharing with the class.)

It's one of the better weeks she's had in a while: they sing along to the radio and she's impressed with Sam's ability to sing along to every guitar riff and lick on "Stairway to Heaven" (she raised him right) and when "Rock of Ages" comes on, Sam's eyes widen before he laughs.

"Of course you'd give yourself this song as your _grand_ entrance, you drama queen."

She shoves him against the car door. "It was _bad ass_. My potential final moment couldn't be _lame_."

Sam smiles and shakes his head. "Sure, Dee, sure."

**

During their month in the south, they get word of a string of murders – all of them women – happening outside of Palo Alto.

She knows Sam isn't going to say no and she doesn't ask him if he's okay with it, so they go drive up the Californian coast, grim.

**

It takes them all of five minutes to realize it's a siren (who the hell is bringing these Greek supernatural _things_ into the country?) and they become wary and paranoid, living out of water bottles and packaged foods for days.

One of the murderers they interviewed (or tried to interview) is catatonic and it scares Deanna more than the ones who were screaming and sobbing. "I killed my best friend," the woman states with dead eyes and it takes Deanna hours to fall asleep that night.

**

She's kissing Cas again and she knows it's a dream, but she doesn't stop because it feels so _real_ , his body warm and hard on top of hers, chapped lips moving against hers and she seriously has to teach him the wonders of Chapstick, but it's just so _good_ –

" _Dee_ …" Cas murmurs against her mouth and _wait just a goddamn second_.

Deanna grips the bronze knife under her pillow and quickly stabs herself on her arm, yelling in pain before she turns the bloodstained knife on the siren, getting him right in the neck. She opens her eyes to see her work and the son of a bitch _looks_ like Cas, but the way it's screeching in pain is so _not_ him. Even so, it makes her fucking _sick_ to watch the light go out of his eyes, blood spilling _everywhere_ , and collapsing on top of her.

Her breathing becomes shallow and her hand is shaking and it's a good thing Sam crashes into the room because she's about to have a panic attack if she can't get _it off of her_.

"Oh my God, _Dee_ ," Sam exhales, rushing over and pulling the dead siren off her, pure horror on his face. Once it's on the ground, he helps her sit up. "Jesus, are you – _how_ – ?"

She hates how she's a fucking _mess_ right now, she hates that she feels like sobbing out of relief that she was right, or out of something else entirely. "He – _it_ called me Dee. He'd never do that," Deanna says, scrambling to get out of bed and nearly tripping over the sheets tangled around her legs.

"Easy," Sam says, steadying her. "I might need to stitch that up before you can shower for the next year."

She laughs into his shoulder and keeps laughing when she starts crying.

**

"You have to admit," Sam starts as he stitches up her arm. "What you did was pretty bad ass."

Deanna takes a long drink of the bottle of Jack. "Yeah it was," she agrees, trying to smile at him.

(He doesn't bring up that the only way the siren could've mimicked Cas was from seeing a photograph, and it managed to find one on Sam's computer, from Deanna's _stupid_ want to see Cas and the only way to do it was to look up Jimmy. _Stupid stupid STUPID._ )

**

(She showers for over an hour, scrubbing blood off her and forces herself to vomit twice, even though she knows the venom is useless in her system now. By the time she crawls into Sam's bed, it's almost dawn and she doesn't bother sleeping.)

**

When Deanna reads the paper in the morning, she reads about the catatonic woman taking her own life while in custody. She isn't surprised.

**

Sam is wringing his hands in the car as they drive out of California. She waits for about a half hour for him to talk, but when he shows no indication of talking she says, "Come on, Sasquatch, what is it?"

He jumps in the seat and she knows it has to be something serious. "You're not gonna like it," he admits.

"How do you know."

"Because I know."

She rolls her eyes and drums her right hand on the steering wheel. Her left arm is throbbing and she wishes she took painkillers before leaving.

"I went to Stanford this morning," he says quickly, as if saying the worst faster will make it better.

She bites her bottom lip for a second. "About what?" she asks, keeping her voice even.

"About…maybe finishing off my senior year. Getting my bachelor's."

She smoothly pulls over the side of the road, turns off the ignition so she can properly look at him. "How long have you been thinking about this?" She thinks she should be more frustrated and angry, but really she's just exhausted. It could be the fact that she hasn't slept in thirty hours, or it could be fatigue over her dad's belief that going to college ever meant abandoning the family.

He looks away guiltily. "Since September. But once we were back in Palo Alto I just. I wanted to know if it was possible."

"And?"

He shrugs. "They said I'd need to take some tests and do some interviews. Make sure I'm not a nut job since I did just…leave with only a phone call. But it's possible. Not sure about my scholarships though, which is a problem. Not to mention the fact that I'm going to show up dead on record," he rambles, sounding more stressed as he continues.

"Sam!" she says loudly, interrupting him. "Relax. If you really want to go back to school, then." She swallows. "You should. You deserve to be happy, and if going back makes you happy, then. We'll find a way to make it work."

He stares at her like she's a complete stranger. "Wow. I was _not_ expecting that."

She snorts. "Yeah, well. I like to think I'm a little less thick-headed than Dad was."

"You can live with me," he says suddenly. "We can split an apartment. It can be a home base for you if you want to travel far for hunts or you can –"

"Let's try to figure out a way to get you back to school first before we worry about that," she says, uncomfortable.

He nods quickly, making her grin.

**

"I'll take care of it," Bobby says once Sam explains the obstacles involved in his going back to school.

"How?"

"I said I'd take care of it. Don't ask questions."

Deanna snorts, sipping on a beer.

"And let's clean your stitches," Bobby directs towards her, making her grimace and Sam laugh.

**

After tossing and turning for a few hours, she goes downstairs to the couch, careful on where to step so she's silent.

The full moon is bright, illuminating the house a cold blue and she brings Sam's old sweatshirt sleeves over her hands as she shivers.

She turns on the TV and keeps the volume on low, flipping through channels but not finding anything good. She eventually just sticks on an infomercial, trying to sell a bedazzler of some sorts. Maybe she'll get it for Sam for his birthday, he'll appreciate it. 

She hears the stairs creak and she whips her head to find Bobby going down them. It's always weird seeing him without a hat on, but it's extra weird to see him in pajamas, even if it is sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

He plops down next to her and they watch TV for a few minutes, not saying anything. She has an inkling of why he's down here and she's not going to help him out at all.

He sighs. "I know you're no Chatty Cathy –"

"Well I'm glad you know that –"

"You shut your mouth, Deanna Winchester and let me talk," Bobby growls.

She purses her lips and looks forward, but she's not watching TV.

"Obviously it wasn't Cas, but still. It ain't easy to kill somethin' that looks like –"

She squeezes her eyes shut and brings her knees up to her chin. "Don't say it," she whispers. "Just, don't." She breathes in and out slowly before opening her eyes. "It was _nothing_ like what happened to you with Karen, don't insult yourself with that comparison."

After a few seconds, Bobby brings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

"Bobby, what the f –"

"Just shut up and watch the infomercial," he mutters.

It's really fucking weird for her at first, but eventually it doesn't feel awkward resting against him. He smells of whiskey and pipe tobacco, which is weird because she's been living with him more often than not and she hasn't seen him smoke once.

"Maybe Sam can use one of those for his book bag," Bobby says and Deanna laughs so hard she gets the hiccups.

**

Bobby knows a person who knows a person and somehow, Sam and Deanna Winchester are back from the dead, previous charges erased from the record.

"But _how_ ," Sam asks, dumbfounded but pleased.

"I said don't ask questions," Bobby answers, patting his shoulder. "Start applying, kid, I ain't chipping in that much."

"Wait, you're not –"

"I'm not gonna give you shit if you start bawling on me."

Sam just smiles at him, tears in his eyes before he goes in for a hug.

Bobby shakes his head, but wraps his arms around him all the same.

"Aw, how cute," Deanna says, even if it is touching.

"Shut up," Bobby and Sam say at the same time.

**

Deanna, Sam, and Bobby celebrate her thirty-second (Jesus _Christ_ ) birthday by getting an apple pie, sticking in some candles, and drinking a lot of beer.  


Definitely one of her least exciting birthdays, but it's one of her favorites.

**

In February, Sam goes to Stanford for interviews and tests and Deanna pulls him into a tight hug. "You're gonna do great, Sammy, you always do."

Sam squeezes her so tight she can barely breathe, but she doesn't mind. "Thanks, Dee. I'll call you."

"You better, I want to know how long it takes for them to swoon at your puppy eyes," she teases, pulling away to pat him on the cheek.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

**

Deanna stays with Bobby and works on cars again, considering what she will do when Sam started school because she knew he was going to be accepted back, no question about it.

She could hunt alone – she's done it for years and she can do it again. And maybe during his breaks he can join her. She could split her down time between Sam and Bobby. It's really not a bad plan at all, it's just.

(She feels like she needs to do something different, which is fucking bizarre and admittedly scary since she doesn't know what else to do – _thanks a lot, Daddy_ , she thinks sarcastically as she turns the ignition, triumphant when the truck roars to life.)

**

The universe seems to be kind towards the Winchesters (or at least towards Sam, which is as it should be) because Sam calls soon enough, talking too fast how he explains that he passed everything, that he'll be going back in the fall, and he's getting a partial scholarship.

" _Tell Bobby I'll pay him back as soon as I can, he can charge interest_ ," he babbles and it takes her a few times to get him to shut up.

So Sam starts looking for apartments with one-year leases and she wonders when he's going to tell her that he'll be applying to law school. She's betting next February after he's sent in his applications.

**

Once Sam is done with everything in Stanford, they leave Bobby's and start hunting again, going east and heading into Stephen King territory. Surprisingly enough, it's pretty tame when it comes to the supernatural.

"We probably should've come here later in the year," Sam says thoughtfully as they stare out into the Atlantic Ocean. They're freezing their asses off, but the sun is out and it's pretty out. "For lobster and New England clam chowder."

Deanna grimaces. "Yes to the lobster, no to the _clam chowder._ That's disgusting."

"You've never even tried it."

"I don't need to – it looks like sludge and it smells rotten."

"It does not – it's tasty and delicious."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

She smiles every time they do that – a reminder that they're in happier times, she supposes.

"Okay, I need a coffee to warm up, my feet are numb, _Jesus_ ," Deanna complains, walking off the beach towards the Impala.

**

Surprisingly enough, Sam is the one who brings a girl back to their room on Unattached Drifter Christmas and Deanna spends her night reading Vonnegut, eating chocolate, and drinking beer.

At the end of the month, they head back to Bobby's, Sam's left wrist in a cast from a fracture. She's still laughing about it because he didn't even get it from a hunt.

"You're such a dick," Sam complains as she randomly starts laughing in the middle of I-90 West.

"You broke your wrist –"

" _Fractured_."

" – By slipping on ice when you were going over to pick up a pen a woman dropped on the sidewalk," she finishes in between her snickering.

"Go to Hell."

"Already did, Sammy boy. Get a better insult."

He shoots her an apologetic glance, which she dismisses with a wave of her hand. Then he goes back to pouting for the rest of the drive home.

**

Bobby finds the story equally as funny and Sam spends the first night there locked up in his room.

**

The next day, Sam goes into Sioux Falls and comes back with a job.

"How the fuck does this shit happen to you?" Deanna demands, shaking her head as she mutes the TV.

"I was just in this bookstore and the woman at the register was on the phone, complaining that she was a person short and wasn't going to have anyone available until June when her nephew got out of school, so. I volunteered," Sam explains with a disbelieving smile on his face. "I mean let's face it, I need to earn some money for school and everything."

"No, that's great," Deanna assures him before smiling. "Is she cute?"

"Who?"

"The bookstore lady, who else?"

"Sure, if you like women twice your age."

Deanna sighs. "Pity."

Sam turns to Bobby with a wince. "I can find a place –"

"Oh shut up," Bobby interrupts him with a roll of his eyes.

Deanna grins.

"And I suppose you were already doing half the work this past year anyway," Bobby says to her. "You can pick up the hopeless case cars so I don't have to do it."

This is the closest they're going to get to having permission to stay for such a long period of time.

**

Except Deanna leaves two days later for a potential shapeshifter, but it turns out the guy _was_ committing the murders, just claiming insanity. Deanna ties him up and knocks him unconscious, leaving him in front of the police station.

After that, she hunts all over the place, driving to hunts days away because what else is she going to do? Besides, she's pretty sure if both of the Winchesters are in Bobby's house at the same time for too long, he'll explode.

She calls Sam every few days and he tells her he found a signed first edition of _Bluebeared_ in one of the dusty boxes in storage, previously owned and forgotten by the late owner.

"That better not be a fucking tease and it's currently sitting on my bed at Bobby's, waiting for me."

" _Of course it is, Dee, I'm not an asshole like you._ "

"I raised you right," she states proudly.

He scoffs on the other end and asks her about her latest hunt.

She doesn't have a big hunt until the first week of April, when Rufus calls Bobby about a vampire nest in Massachusetts, needing backup. Deanna's in North Carolina, having just finished up a salt and burn, so she offers to go to help.

" _I can meet you guys there_ ," Sam says on the phone as she's making her way up I-95 North.

"And how are you gonna explain your absence? Don't bother – we'll be fine. I can kill a vamp in my sleep at this point," Deanna retorts.

By the time she's met up with Rufus, he's figured out where the nest is.

"Well, at least you saved the fun part for me," Deanna says, grinning maniacally as she sharpens her blade in his motel room.

**

The problem with Deanna and Rufus hunting is that they're too similar in a lot of aspects when it comes to their style. Sam usually grounds her, suddenly discovering a piece of information or coming to a realization that changes their case and makes them take a step back, figure out a new course of action.

So when Rufus tells her that they're a nest of four or six, she figures it's enough to handle between the two of them. They're on either side of the house, counting six, and she's about to text Rufus about going in when she's knocked unconscious by another vampire because _whoops_.

(Rufus was off by about six.)

**

Deanna wakes up to a searing pain in her wrist, which blood is being sucked out of by a vampire.

She tries to move out of reach, but she's chained to a bed. Perfect. She's starting to feel dizzy already when the asshole chewing on her arms steps back, grinning at her with sharp, bloody teeth.

"I think you need to floss, buddy," she says with a condescending grin before she's knocked out again.

**

Next time she comes to, she's cold and she barely has the energy to open her eyes. She thinks it's still dark out, so they're planning on draining her before sunrise. "Rufus," she croaks, hoping at least he managed to get away.

"Oh, we'll get him soon enough," a vampire growls by her ear.

She tries to scowl, even though it's hard to move any muscle. "Personal space, douche," she says, her voice too quiet and weak to her ears.

Another vampire grabs her wrist and when he sucks blood, she can't muster up the effort to scream, her vision going black.

**

__

__

_This is it_ , she considers, groggy and barely awake. She survives through the Goddamn Fucking Apocalypse only to be offed by fucking _vampires_?

She can vaguely see the vampires standing around her, arguing about who will do the honors of finishing her off. She hopes they leave her body here when they're finished so Sam can find it and burn it properly.

She closes her eyes again and tries to think of Sam, rather having his face be the last thing she sees before she's killed. She's long accepted that she'd be killed in some brutal manner, but she was beginning to think that she'd have a little more time than this.

The only halfway decent thing about dying she can think of is seeing her parents, especially her mom. She'd like to talk to her. And seeing Ash and Jo and Ellen and –

It's a fucking long shot, but she swallows, parts her lips and, " _C…as…_ " is barely audible and there's no fucking way he's going to hear her.

She then sees a blinding white light behind her eyelids and this is how death is always described – _what a cliché_ , is her last thought before she's unconscious.

**

She can hear a constant beeping and Sam's worried murmuring that she tried her best to beat out of him, but he still does it, mostly when it involves someone he cares about, so. Hospital.

She sighs, trying to lift her heavy eyelids, Sam's stomping to the side of the bed almost making her laugh.

"Dee? Are you awake."

"Mmph," she manages to get out. Good enough.

He sighs in relief. "Thank God. You and Rufus are _never_ hunting together again – Bobby's probably going to ignore him for another fifteen years."

She'd roll her eyes if she could. "M'fine."

"You almost died of severe blood loss. They didn't think you were going to make it," Sam counters, voice rough.

"If…t'apocalypse didn' kill me…"

He exhales a laugh in disbelief. "Yeah, I guess."

"Y'kill the sons o' bitches?"

When he doesn't answer her, she opens her eyes properly, wincing at the brightness of the room. He's frowning in thought, staring at a spot by her knee.

"Don't tell me you didn't _kill them all_ ," she growls, wishing she could lift her leg and whack him in the head.

"They were already dead when Rufus got you out," he answers finally, his brow furrowing more.

She stares at him for a few seconds. "Well it's not like _I_ killed them all when I lost about two liters of blood."

"Two-point-one liters," he corrects automatically.

She winces. "Okay, yeah, so. Who offed them then if Rufus didn't?"

"Dee, they weren't just _offed_ , they were _obliterated_. I didn't believe Rufus at first until I walked in there myself – there were piles of _ashes_ on the floor. I don't know anything that has the juice for that. Bobby's looking into it now, but. He doesn't know anything either."

Deanna snorts, resting her head on her pillow as she looks up at the ceiling. But then she remembers the last few seconds before the _bright white light_ and she starts laughing because _of course_.

"What's so funny?" Sam asks, looking more concerned than confused.

She sighs, still smiling. "Tell Bobby to stop researching. I know who it was."

" _Who_? But –" Sam starts before something clicks. "Wait, _Cas_? But isn't he stuck in Heaven? If he couldn't get out before, why now? And if he's out, why isn't he here? Why didn't he stick around?"

She closes her eyes at Sam's incessant questioning. "Hell if I know. I called for him as a…Hail Mary of sorts. I didn't think it would actually work." She opens her eyes again. "Fuck, I hope that doesn't get him into shit."

Sam takes out his phone from his back pocket, probably dialing Bobby's number. "I hope so too, but. I'm really fucking happy he did it," Sam says with challenging eyes and she thinks normally she'd be quicker to fight him on it, that she's not really worth it, but she's selfishly grateful too that she doesn't get to miss out on Sammy's life.

"Mind taking that outside? I think I want to sleep for another twelve hours before we get the fuck out of here."

He nods, bringing the phone to his ear and leaving the room.

She looks up at the ceiling and again and says, "Thank you."

Maybe tomorrow she'll feel more self-loathing, worry more about Cas than she usually does, but for now, she's exhausted and relieved.

**

The next day she's free to leave. She still feels a little woozy, but the doctor says she'll be fine by the end of the week and she stops listening to him after that.

"It's a good thing I paid attention," Sam says, annoyed.

She shrugs. "I knew you would, Sammy." She stops walking on the spot. "Please tell me you got my baby."

He rolls his eyes, taking the keys to the Impala from his pocket.

"Great," she says, reaching out to take the keys, but he pulls his hand back.

"No, you can't drive."

"Well then how the fuck –"

"I _flew_ here. It would've taken me an entire day to get here if I drove," he answers, _duh_ unsaid but heard.

She grimaces. "Fine."

"You can drive tomorrow if you're feeling better."

"I _will_ drive tomorrow."

" _If_ you're –"

She glares at him and he glares back.

"Uh, excuse me? You should probably keep walking or move to the side," a timid nurse says.

"Bitch," Deanna mutters, walking forward.

"Jerk."

**

It takes them four days to get to Bobby's house since Deanna can't drive as long as she wants to and Sam never had the kind of stamina she has. So they have the time to eat three square meals a day, mostly for Deanna's benefit, and to catch up.

"I swear, Dee, the people that come in, it would make you become more of a pessimist about the world than you already are," Sam says with a shake of his head and she doesn't understand why he won't cut his hair, but she's suddenly hit with a fierce gratefulness that she's going to be around to watch it grow down his fucking back, if he wants.

She stares out the window and smiles.

**

Bobby squeezes the fucking life out of her when she gets out of the car. "You idjit," he hisses, holding her tighter.

She pats his back. "Come on, Bobby. It runs in the family to be killed by the Big Bads."

He steps back with his hands on her upper arms. "Well I expect to die long before you do, so do whatever you want after I'm dead and burned."

"I'll go pick up some food and yes, I'll get pie," Sam says, already back away to the car.

Deanna closes her mouth and smiles. "Atta boy."

**

It's not until her third day at Bobby's, once she's feeling back to normal, does she start losing sleep, worrying about Cas.

So she goes outside one night, leather coat over her sleep clothes, heading deep into the Salvage Yard and says up to the sky, "I don't know what the fuck you asshats are doing up there, but don't you _dare_ hurt him." The words sound stupid because what can she _do_? It's not like she hurt or kill any angels. And even so, how could she ever find out if they were actually hurting Cas or not?

They're old questions, ones she's raised too many times over the past few months and she's tired of them. So she walks back inside and hates the way her cheeks flushed hot in embarrassment.

**

On Sunday morning, she's surprised to find Sam gone.

"Where's Sam?" Deanna asks Bobby as she walks into the kitchen, debating on being lazy and making toast, or making eggs. "Isn't this his day off?"

When Bobby doesn't answer her, she turns to face him. He's resting his head on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of the sofa. "I told him to tell you," he mutters to himself.

"Tell me what?" she demands, dread filling her system because _Jesus Christ_ , she thought they were _done_ with the secrecy.

"Use your brain for five minutes and figure it out: why would Sam of all people be gone on Sunday morning?"

She narrows his eyes at him before slipping across the room in thought. When she spots a crucifix on one of the tables, she realizes. "Son of a _bitch_ , he's _not_ at _church_. After everything we've been through?"

"Don't look at me - ask him when he gets back from mass!" Bobby says, picking up the newspaper in front of him. "And if you don't mind, have that pow wow _outside_. I don't need to hear you dolts yelling."

**

She runs outside when she hears him drive up to the house and Sam seems to realize she's figured it out because he doesn't leave the car. He just locks the doors and windows, staring at her with a deer in the headlights expression.

"Get out of the fucking car, Sam!" she yells, slapping on the window. "What the actual _fuck_ are you doing, going to _church_?"

"I'll tell you if you back off and not chew my head off!" Sam retorts.

She slams on the window one last time and steps back, running both her hands through hair, tugging in frustration. He waits a few seconds before slowly getting out of the car.

"God brought me back," he states, blunt, "Bobby too. That's something to be grateful for."

"But you _died_ ," she hisses. "I watched Lucifer _snap_ Bobby's neck. I _heard_ it. I had to watch you throw yourself into the _Pit_." She squeezes her eyes shut. "I was _alone_ on that goddamn field for a lifetime thinking that I lost _everything_." She opens her eyes and she hates how tears are stinging them. "I have nightmares about that."

"And you think I don't have nightmares about jumping?" Sam snaps. "Because I do. Every night. But then I wake up and I feel this...this wave of _relief_ that it's not real. That I'm _here_. That I didn't leave you alone."

She clenches her jaw and looks away from his stupidly earnest face. "How long have you been going?" she asks.

"This is my fourth time going."

She smiles bitterly. "Waited until I left, didn't you?"

"I wanted to try going without having to deal with that judgmental look on your face that you have right now."

"So, what? You're going to go to church every Sunday? Wear a cross around your neck and _praise ye to the Lord, the Almighty_?"

Sam huffs, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable. Did you ever think that maybe I'm also praying for Cas?"

She swallows. "You don't have to go to church for that," she answers, quiet.

He looks guilty for bringing Cas up and she doesn't want to think about _why_ he would, but says, "Look. I know we've never seen eye-to-eye on religion and God way before all this and yeah, a lot of what we've been through these past two years has changed my beliefs. But despite God's absence and Heaven conspiring to end the world...there was Cas, who for all intents and purposes, stood up against his family, everything he's ever known, because you somehow convinced him that we were worth it. Not all angels are dicks like Zachariah and Uriel. Some can probably be as good as Cas, if given the opportunity. That gives me hope." Sam swallows, looking at her imploringly. "I pray that Heaven can rebuild into something better, that angels will maybe use their power to help us every now and then. I pray to God and thank Him for my life and for Bobby's and for yours. I pray for Cas and hope we can see him again because we owe him a night out for everything he's done for us."

She smiles a little at that, quickly bringing her hand up to stop a tear from falling.

"You're right, I don't have to go to church to do all that," he admits. "But that hour is my time to do it and if you don't like it, then you can eat shit."

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. "I'm not a fan of it. But..." she shrugs. "You're a big boy. You can do what you want. But seriously if you start carrying a bible around and wearing a cross I _will_ choke you with it."

"Deal," he laughs. "Please tell me you're planning on making breakfast."

"Yeah, I was about to make eggs," she says, heading back inside.

When he catches up to her and walks beside her, she wraps an arm around his waist for a brief hug.

**

April passes by easily enough. Deanna tries to convince Bobby to just make up with Rufus, but he's stubborn and refuses. Sam works and goes out with his coworkers on occasion. She joins them once, going to a bar and she meets Helen, the woman who hired Sam, and Tim and Tory and Jen, who also work there. The youngest and underage workers, Tommy and Will, tend to work more on the weekends and kept looking at her chest when she met Sam at the bookstore.

Tim tries to flirt with her at the bar, but she's more polite than usual in letting him down and he seems to get the hint pretty early on in the night. He's actually pretty attractive with his dark skin and dark eyes, but.

"Gotta admit, Dee," Sam slurs after Helen drops them off at Bobby's house. "Thought for sure you n' Tim would -"

"Come on, Sam, sleep it off," she interrupts him, leading him up the stairs and onto his bed.

(She will _not_ think about the implications, she will _not_.)

**

"I suppose a thank you is in order."

Deanna freezes, her grip on her book tightening as she looks up, horrified to see Death standing in the middle of Bobby's house.

Reading her terrified expression, he sighs, as if dealing with a silly pet. "No, I'm not here to collect any souls."

She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes briefly in relief. "Do you come back for your bl – ring?"

He holds up his ring. "Already retrieved it."

"Of course," she mutters, swallowing. "Is that all, or…?"

"Do you have any food? I've missed pizza while I was doing…damage control," Death asks.

"No…but Angelina's should still be open," Deanna answers, slowly getting to her feet, but as soon as she turns her back on him to retrieve her car keys, she finds herself sitting down at a booth in Angelina's, light-headed.

"I don't have a lot of willing time to spare," Death says in explanation.

The waitress comes along and Death orders for the two of them – meat lasagna and Cokes – while Deanna tries to not have a panic attack.

The second time sitting across from Death isn't any less terrifying than the first time. He's unrolling the napkin and taking out the silverware and she's still frozen in her seat, staring at his every move.

"I've heard that the lasagna is quite good here," Death remarks.

Deanna feels like never eating again.

After the waitress brings them their drinks, Death says, "Congratulations, Deanna Winchester, you've managed to get everything you wanted: the Apocalypse was averted, your brother is alive and well along with your…father-like figure. The angels are back in Heaven where they belong."

Deanna looks down at the table and picks up her Coke, wishing she got fucking Diet Coke because this is too sweet.

"Typical."

She looks up at Death, who's staring at her with a bored expression on his face. "What's typical?"

"You humans are never truly satisfied, are you," he states rather than questions.

She forces herself to smile and laugh a little, but it's all strained. "Oh no, I'm very…satisfied. I'm the most surprised out of anyone to know that God decided to flex His muscles after so long, but –"

"You're wondering why the rogue angel Castiel wasn't brought back to you," he finishes her for her.

She shuts her mouth and her eyes widen, her throat closing up as the waitress brings over their food.

After a few minutes of silence, the smell making her queasy, Death says, "Eat," in that casual, but demanding tone.

She bites her inner cheek and slowly cuts a small square. And then another, and another, not taking a bite.

"What more do you want?" he finally asks, halfway through his meal.

She clenches her jaw and tries not think about the frustration of not actually seeing him, only feeling his fists against the wall of her mind, hearing the static from her radio, and seeing the bright light of his true form before passing out; her dreams of what she wants so badly that she shoves away come the morning and the constant worrying of Cas being in trouble and her not being about to do a fucking thing from down here –

Death sighs, placing his utensils on the plate. "It seems the only remotely interesting person of your company is Castiel, but even he is turning out to be quite predictable."

Suddenly realizing what Death is insinuating, she exhales, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. "He's still alive," she breathes.

Death rolls his eyes. "Humans in love are more irritating and difficult to have an intelligent conversation with," he mutters before he takes a lot drink of his soda.

She blushes something fierce, but holds her tongue.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed," he says, placing his soda back on the table. "He's been kicking up a fuss and causing Heaven some grief over you."

"Is there, uh…" she clears her throat, "a way I could see him, or at least talk to him?"

Death goes back to eating his lasagna and she curls her hands into fists on top of her thighs, impatient.

"No," Death finally answers, "Not at this time."

"Not at this – what the hell does _that_ mean?" she snaps.

Death pins her down with a stare, effectively shutting her up and striking fear into her brain again. "It means, to put it in simple terms, quite easy for you to understand, is this: you are not capable at this time."

"So, what? Tomorrow would be better? Or in a week or two?" she asks, half joking, half serious, but mostly annoyed; it's been almost a year and Death is the most powerful being she knows is around and he's _right in front of her_.

"I'm aware that patience is not a virtue that the entirety of the human race can boast of, but I'm sure you're capable of a fraction of it." He looks down at Deanna's untouched plate.

"It's…nothing personal. I haven't been really hungry these past few days."

"Yes…worry and stress are a killer," he says, his mouth twitching.

She thinks Death making a death joke is just about the weirdest fucking thing she's dealt with in just about forever.

"She'll have this wrapped to go," Death tells the waitress when she comes around again.

She takes Deanna's plate without a word and leaves them alone.

"It's just…he's done so much. He shouldn't have to suffer anymore," she admits, looking down at her lap. "At least not for my sake. Especially not for my sake. And –" she stops, looks up and realizes Death has already disappeared. "Son of a –"

But on the table there's cash and the keys to her Impala. She winces. "Sorry," she says out loud.

The waitress looks confused at Deanna being alone, but seems to appreciate the large tip when she leaves the bill and doesn't ask for change.

**

When she pulls up to Bobby's house, Sam is already waiting outside, trying not to shiver.

"Uh, your car vanished, I saw it from my window," Sam says, confused but looking relieved. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Had a chat with my good ol' friend Death," Deanna answers, shutting her door.

He looks horrified as she walks toward him. "Are you serious - what did he want?"

"His bling back." She hands him the wrapped box of food. "Lasagna. I didn't eat it, you're free to."

He takes the leftovers from her with a shell-shocked expression as she goes inside.

**

"Patience, huh," Deanna murmurs, looking out her window, admiring the crescent moon. "I dunno, Cas, you know me."

(She sleeps and dreams, like usual.)

**

A few days before Easter, Sam comes to her with puppy dog eyes.

"What do you want and what are you offering in return?" she asks him, not looking up from her baking. She's trying to make a mixed berry pie, and if it's any good, she'll make another one for Easter.

"I volunteered to run the Easter egg hunt after nine o'clock mass and this nice elderly woman, Mrs. O'Brien, who was supposed to help me, is flying out to Montana to spend the holiday with her sister. Apparently she's sick and isn't getting better," he starts explaining, a frown on his face, "So I need someone to help me."

"What do you mean by _helping_?"

"Just - make sure the kids aren't fighting over eggs? Make sure they don't run off? There shouldn't be more than thirty kids it's a small church, even if more people come on Easter. It's really not a lot - the parents will obviously be there too. It would just -"

"Fine."

"...Wait, really?"

"Yeah," she says, stirring the sugar and cornstarch. "I like kids. As long as I get to have chocolate to snack on."

"Great," Sam sighs, happy. "Oh, by the way, you're going to have to wear a dress."

She grimaces.

"One that's not above the knee."

She turns to face him and holds out her hand.

He rolls his eyes and reaches into his pocket to pull out some bills.

"That shit's expensive, Sammy."

"No cleavage either! Don't need to give the priest a heart attack."

"I think you mean ‘hard on,'" she quips, looking down her chest, which looks quite good in her green henley.

"Ugh, gross, Dee. Just...please get something appropriate for church."

"Fine. Calm your tits, Sammy."

"And you can't wear boots!"

**

It doesn't take her long to find a solid color, knee-length dress or simple lace-up canvas shoes because there's no fucking way she's wearing _flats,_ and none of it is too expensive, so she just uses the rest of Sam's money on Easter candy, which she plans on keeping in her pockets. She doesn't know who invented dresses with pockets in them, but they deserve a goddamn medal.

On early Easter morning, Sam leaves for mass and instructs her to go into the deacon's office, where all the eggs are, and hide them behind the church.

"And Dee, please don't be an ass and hide them in the trees. Six-year-olds are doing this."

She drives over to the church halfway through mass and grabs the three full baskets of eggs, hating the way the hem of her dress is getting caught on the whicker.

It's pretty cold outside even with her leather jacket on, not even fifty degrees out, but the sun is shining and she has a few mini Cadbury Creme Eggs in her pockets as well as some Hershey's kisses. As she's hiding the eggs, she wonders what Heaven does during Easter - do they party it up? Do they not even pay attention to the holiday because it's such a _human_ holiday?

"They could do with a few holidays to loosen up," she mutters to herself as she hides a few eggs in a bush.

When she straightens up, she feels eyes on her.

She whips her head around, but she's alone.

She slowly drops the basket onto the ground, reaching into her jacket for the demon knife. But nothing happens.

She waits for a tense minute and then suddenly, it's gone, like she can breathe properly again.

She waits another minute before picking up the basket and going back to hiding eggs.

**

"I felt something watching me earlier," Deanna mutters in Sam's ear after mass is let out. He's unwrapping a plate of bagels for the spread the parents are going to be consuming. She snatches one when he's done.

"What do you mean?" he asks, wary.

"I don't know. It just felt like I was being watched and then a minute later, it stopped."

He frowns in thought. "I'll keep an eye out. Nobody's possessed - everyone went to the holy water when they walked in the door, I counted. Besides the babies, but I've never seen a demon possess a baby..."

"Nice homage to _Rosemary's Baby_ though," she jokes as she rips off a piece of the bagel and pops it in her mouth.

He sighs. "Clearly you're fine if you're making inappropriate jokes - just go out there and make sure the kids don't hurt each other."

She rolls her eyes and walks across the field, stopping where she placed the eggs the furthest away from the church. She can hear him gather the kids and give them directions and she laughs when one of the children blurts, "You're so tall!"

He blows a whistle and they take off in different directions. A few of the kids cover the distance by her and swiping everything quickly. One timid girl who doesn't have much in her basket, comes over and starts searching by Deanna. She had been watching her a few minutes into the hunt, noticing that the boys would knock her hand out of the way and take what egg she had found.

"Psst," Deanna says, getting the girl's attention. She gestures for her to come to her, which she does obediently. "Here," she says, reaching into her pockets and emptying them of their Cadbury Creme Eggs and Hershey's kisses. The girl's blue eyes widen. "Next time a boy tries to force you like that - don't let him. Be strong, stand your ground. You're better than they are."

"But they're bigger. And meaner," the girl answers, looking down at her feet.

"You know that really tall man who was telling you what to do in the egg hunt? With the long hair."

The girl nods. "Yeah, it's a _giant_."

"He's my younger brother and I can take him down no problem," she tells her and maybe it's a bit of an exaggeration since Sam is fucking huge at this point, but all the same.

The girl looks at her as if she's a superhero. "Really?"

"Yeah. So don't be scared. You can be just as tough, if not tougher than half those dou-boys. In fact, you will be when you're older. There's no way a guy could handle the sh-stuff girls go through. Off you go."

The girl smiles at her and runs back.

Deanna walks forward towards the church, pretty sure that the last few eggs missing are in the flower beds by the doorway. Sam heads over to her and asks, "What was that about? And did you just give away your Cadbury Creme Eggs to someone? Who are you?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Boys were being little shits, so I gave her something better."

"I hope you didn't curse at her because she's the daughter of one of the prominent moms in the church."

"I didn't. I just told her I could beat your ass anytime I wanted."

He shakes his head and says, "Well, thanks for doing this, I really appreciate it."

"It's fine, Sammy," she says, looking over to the spread, wondering if there's anything decent left over, but then notices a woman standing alone, clearly separated from the rest of the parents in her dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, dressed like –

She's looking at her.  
_  
Angel_.

She turns away and walks inside the church and Deanna sees _red_ , sprinting across the yard, weaving through everyone as she whips out the demon knife – she may not be able to kill the bitch but she can sure as hell tear her heart out of her fucking chest –

She pushes open the door and runs past the altar, but stops short in the aisle when she hears the rustle of wings and then sees the angel she saw earlier, a second angel in a suit and tie, and –

"Cas," Deanna exhales, staring at Cas, who's being held at either side by the two angels. He looks more windswept than usual, eyes wide and bright as he looks at her, through her.

"Here you are, Castiel," the woman says, disdain dripping from every word before slamming a hand into his back, causing him to arch and squeeze his eyes shut, screaming in agony. Deanna takes another few steps forward to rip her _fucking head off_ before a bright light blinds her, forcing her to shield her eyes.

"Cas!" Deanna yells, but she can't hear anything but a ringing a sound and just when she's about to scream herself, it stops, both angels gone and Cas lying facedown on the ground, bleeding through his trench coat. "Cas," she whispers is horror, closing the distance between them and lifting him up.

Sam quickly crouches down next to her to help (when did he get here?), checking Cas' back as best he can. "I don't know how badly he's bleeding –"

"I'm not bleeding anymore," Cas says, voice hoarse and weak. He's turning white and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Noting the signs, she directs Cas' head away from their laps, a gentle hand on his forehead to push away his wild hair as he vomits bile onto the floor.

"We need to get him out of here," Deanna hisses as the back door starts opening.

"Take him home and I'll think of an explanation," Sam says and it's the first slip up either of them as made about Bobby's house being home.

They take each of Cas' arms and wrap them around their shoulders as they stumble to their feet. "Go," Sam tells them.

"Come on, Cas," Deanna says, tightening her arm around his waist.

Cas can barely walk, so it takes them an unbearable amount of time to make it to the Impala. "Lean against the car for a second," she tells him as she grabs her keys from her pocket, hand shaking as she unlocks the door. "Get in, and if you throw up in my baby…" she trails off, shutting the door once he's inside, not knowing how the fuck to properly threaten him.

She speeds out of the lot and down the road, looking over at Cas every few seconds to make sure he's still breathing, that he's still there and that this isn't some twisted dream. She's tempted to reach a hand over and grip his arm, as if it will prevent him from disappearing.

Thankfully, he doesn't look as awful as he did in the church - color seems to be returning to his face, but his eyelids are drooping.

"Hold out for another minute, Cas, I can't - son of a bitch," she curses when he passes out, head lolling towards his window.

She slips her phone out of her pocket and dials Bobby's number. "Meet me outside your house right the fuck now," she says as soon as he picks up.

" _What the hell -_ "

"Just do it, Bobby!" she pretty much shrills before hanging up.

Bobby's standing outside already when she pulls up to the front of the house. She hurries out of the car and Bobby is staring at the passenger side in shock.

"Help me get him out, he passed out a few minutes ago," Deanna orders, opening the door. Bobby moves Cas' legs out of the car and Deanna lifts him away from the seat, taking one of his arms and draping it over her shoulders again. Bobby takes his other arm and they make their way into the house.

"Let's put him on the couch - we can move him to a bed when Sam gets back," Bobby says and they lower Cas to the couch.

"He said he stopped bleeding, but..." Deanna says, starting to take off his trench coat.

"He left a nice stain on your seat," Bobby tells her as they strip Cas of his coat, blazer, and shirt.

She ignores him and guides Cas forward so she can see his back and - "Holy _shit_ ," she blurts, hesitant to touch him.

His back is slick with blood, the source being two cuts down his shoulder blades. They look healed, but they're thick and deep and glaringly obvious.

"It's like they ripped _wings_ from his back," Bobby says, looking disturbed.

She gets to her feet and heads toward the kitchen to wet a towel, needing something to do to keep her hands from shaking. She turns on the taps and waits until the water is warm before soaking the towel, wringing out excess water as she fills a bowl.

"Do you think it's Heaven giving him the boot?" Bobby asks when she comes back, holding Cas still as she gently cleans the blood off his back, avoiding the two gruesome scars. With her free hand, she braces it against his chest, over his heart. She can feel his heart beating strongly in his chest, which is a relief.

Once she's cleaned the blood off, she brings the towel over the scars, trying to be tender, but they're sensitive enough to cause Cas to groan, eyes fluttering open.

"Sore," he says, eyes opening and they're hazy with pain and disorientation.

"You're at Bobby's," she explains, dropping the towel back into the bowl so she can use both her hands to hold his head up, forcing him to look at her. "Cas, what the fuck did they do to you?"

"It's...a long story," he answers, shutting his eyes.

She exhales sharply, impatient beyond words. After all this time, answers are within reach and he's being a goddamn _tease_.

Bobby coughs unsubtly and Deanna whips her head to glare at him, still holding Cas' face in her hands.

"You're not gonna get shit out of him, Deanna, just let him sleep it off."

She looks at Cas' face, searching for any change or mark or scar, but there's nothing - he looks exactly the same as he did a year ago. Although she doesn't think she's ever seen him this exhausted before.

She shuts her eyes for a few seconds before lowering him onto the couch, turning him onto his stomach so the rough fabric of the couch won't rub against his scars.

"Where are you going?" Bobby asks and she's halfway towards the front door with keys in hand.

"He's going to need a toothbrush. And a shirt. A lot of shirts. And pants. And a razor, probably, since that perpetual stubble is going to grow and I doubt he can rock a proper beard. So. I'll be back," she says, her words stilted and she doesn't really want to leave, but she can't let herself sit and watch over him, it's a whole new level of low she doesn't want to reach and it's only day fucking one.

On the way to the store, she has to pull off to the side of the road to choke back tears and she doesn't know _why_ she wants to fucking cry until she's debating on which size shirt to get him, holding on to two different packs. It's stupid how it takes her this long because she reacted the same way when Sam appeared by her side after jumping into the Pit, when she helped Bobby stumble to his feet as he grasped his neck.

**

By the time she makes it back to Bobby's house, bags of shit for Cas hanging off one arm and a bag of food for lunch hanging off the other, Sam is back - having abandoned the blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Cas now has bandages wrapped around his torso, but otherwise, it doesn't look like he's stirred.

"Any changes?" Deanna asks, dumping everything by the foot of the stairway and bringing the back of food to the kitchen. She bought a few sandwiches and she won't admit that she spent over five minutes debating on what Cas would like when he wakes up.

"No. He'll probably wake up in a few more hours," Sam answers, standing up to join her in the kitchen. She goes into the fridge and pulls out two beers, tossing one to Sam, who catches it and gives her a grateful look.

"How the fuck did you explain that shitshow?" she asks before drinking.

Sam grimaces, nearly drinking half his bottle in one go. "I said that Cas has been away on business a lot and that he came to the church to surprise you since you two have been in a long distance relationship -"

" _Sam_."

"Oh come on, Dee, it's not like it's too far off the mark."

"Are you _serious_?"

" _But_ ," Sam continues, louder, "Cas unfortunately was getting over food poisoning and vomited."

She wrinkles her nose. "That's a weak explanation."

"Well you try coming up with something on the fly that explains everything!"

"What about the blood on his back? They must've seen that," she points out, going into the back and pulling out her sandwich.

Sam holds out a finger in triumph. "Paint. Cas is a painter and he must've absentmindedly dropped his coat into his paint. Thankfully, some guy attested that it was totally normal to do that, which helped."

She shakes her head, chewing on her sandwich. "This is so fucked up."

"Maybe we can buy Cas a paint set since he sucks at lying," Sam suggests.

"Not the painting, dumb ass. I mean Cas showing up in the first place in the middle of that fucking church. _Why_?"

He shrugs his shoulders, going into the bag for his own sandwich. "Maybe the sigils we made in the church left a mark somehow. Made it easier for them to find us since we're hidden from angels."

She brings a hand to her ribs and winces. "I guess. It's just -"

"I'm sure Cas will be able to explain everything."

She glances into the living room and obviously Cas is still there, she doesn't know why she felt the urge to double-check.

Sam gives a long-suffering sigh before asking, "What did you get for him?"

"The basics - t-shirts, sweatpants, underwear -"

"How the hell did you figure out his size?"

She flushes and shrugs her shoulders, getting up for another beer. "I guessed. I only bought a pack - I figured if they don't fit, then we'll just go back when we find him jeans. I wasn't sure since his legs practically swim in those dress pants. Who knows how skinny he is. Want another?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She takes out another two bottles and slides one across the table. They drink in silence as they eat their food and she tries not to look over at Cas too many times.

Bobby comes stomping into the house with what looks like a blow-up mattress under his arm, a disgruntled expression on his face. "The blow up mattress in the basement had holes in it, so I had to go out and get one. That couch ain't meant for sleeping on."

She'd hug him if she could. "Thanks, Bobby," she says.

He grunts in response and drops the mattress onto the floor. "Get me a beer, would ya? This day can't get any fucking weirder."

She rolls her eyes, finishing off her own beer and going into the fridge again to get one for Bobby. "I'm gonna clean my car. Get me if he wakes up," she says as she hands the bottle to Bobby.

She should be more pissed that there's blood on the leather interior of her baby because Jesus _Christ_ , blood is a bitch to get off, but she sucks it up and cleans it without a word and maybe she smiles once or twice because it's Cas' and he's alive and (relatively) unhurt, so that's fucking something.

**

Cas eventually wakes up at four in the afternoon, groggy and disoriented, but seemingly okay. He greets her with, "Hello, Deanna," and her breath hitches in her throat and she doesn't even care how ridiculous it is.

His stomach growls and she was supposed to cook a nice Easter dinner, but got distracted with Cas popping up and vomiting in a church (bless him) and bleeding in her car (fuck him), so she opens one of the bags of shirts and tosses one to Cas and pushes Bobby and Sam into the Impala, Cas taking the passenger seat because he's fucking earned it, and driving them to the nearest diner.

Bobby and Sam immediately sit together on one side of the booth and she wants to kill the both of them. She gestures for Cas to slide in first and it's the most awkward she's ever seen him move, making her stomach churn in guilt.

"Happy Easter," the waitress greets them, looking each of them in the eye, lingering on Cas' and Deanna hates that this waitress seems normal and is actually pretty, so there's no reason to hate her. "Can I get y'all something to drink?" Kentucky, Deanna thinks.

Bobby orders a beer and Sam orders an iced tea and Deanna shocks them both by ordering a soda. Cas says, "Water, please, thank you," and she'd be impressed with his (admittedly stilted) social skills if this waitress wasn't swooning since it's probably the first time in ages a customer has been so polite to her.

Deanna nudges her knee against Cas' leg and she can't believe she's been in this dress all day. "You should check the menu to see what you want," she tells him, even though she wants to ask him what the _fuck_ is even happening.

He follows her gaze and he takes a menu from between the salt and peppershakers, reading the menu like it's a textbook, taking his time to consider everything.

The waitress comes back and Deanna says, "Give us another five minutes," before she can open her mouth.

She watches Cas' brow furrow as he turns a page, nimble fingers lingering on the corner of the menu and she suppresses a shiver.

"Do you have a recommendation?" Cas asks suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

She glances over at Sam and Bobby, who are pretending read their menus, the shits, so she hums in thought for a moment. "Maybe a BLT would be good for your stomach?"

"What is a BLT?"

"Bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. With mayo. Mayonnaise," she clarifies for him.

He nods. "Okay."

"So, are y'all ready to order?" the waitress asks, coming out of fucking nowhere. She looks to Cas first.

"I'll have the BLT," Cas states and Deanna can't help but smile.

"What kind of bread would you like? We have white, whole wheat, rye..."

He glances at Deanna with panic and she mouths, 'white' because there's no fucking way she's going to let him be another Sam with his ruining good sandwiches with whole wheat bread.

"White."

"Would you like to make it a deluxe? It comes with fries and coleslaw."

"Yes."

"Regular fries, or sweet potato fries for a dollar more?"

"What's the difference?" Cas asks, cocking his head to the side and she can see Bobby trying to hide behind his menu in embarrassment, which, how the fuck would _he_ know about _sweet potato fries_ when he literally plugs his ears and sings Johnny Cash when Sam talks about _healthy alternative eating_?

Thankfully, the waitress doesn't look at Cas funny and explains the differences in taste and Cas decides to take a risk with the sweet potato fries. Sam looks like he's about to jump across the table and kiss him on both cheeks because fuck her life, she's going to deal with two assholes who want to _explore_ the culinary arts and force her to make it all.

"How're you feeling?" Bobby inquires after the waitress takes the rest of their orders, careful to keep his voice quiet as he looks at Cas.

"Fine," Cas answers, narrowing his eyes as he thinks. "Hungry, mostly. And thirsty."

The waitress comes by in that moment with their drinks, a lemon on Cas' water and okay, maybe the waitress is not perfect (except she is because that's subtle bitchiness if Deanna has ever seen it). Deanna plucks the lemon from Cas' glass and puts it in her own drink. Cas doesn't say anything about it and just drinks his water, nearly finishing it in one go.

"But, you're -"

"Human, yes. Or roughly equivalent. What little Grace I have in me is not equal to that of a human soul."

"So that bright light was -" Deanna starts and Cas nods.

"Most of my Grace, yes."

Sam's giving him that overly concerned look that almost makes him look like he's constipated and Deanna tentatively presses her leg more closely to Cas', enough so she can feel the heat from his leg seep into hers. She's doesn't look at him to gauge his reaction.

The food comes and the sweet potato fries actually look decent, which is good because his first proper meal shouldn't suck. She makes sure to scowl dramatically at Sam's salad.

"Are you sure you're thirty-two?" Sam retorts in a snippy manner and she throws her pickle at him.

"Would you stop acting like children for five goddamn minutes?" Bobby snarls before digging into his omelet and at least Deanna can pat herself on the back for getting Bobby to eat something other than beef jerky and burgers washed down with whiskey because he can't get away with her kind of diet.

After Cas takes a bite of his sandwich, she asks, "Do you like it?" And she may have to throw him onto the street if he doesn't.

He nods his head as he chews, which is good enough for her, so she digs into her burger.

Cas finishes his sandwich before he touches his fries and that's a weird fucking quirk, but she likes watching his eyes light up as he tries something different.

"Here," she offers, pushing her plate a little towards Cas. "Try a normal fry."

She thinks Bobby drops his fork onto his plate, making an obnoxious clatter and she pointedly ignores him, focusing on Cas and how he takes a fry from her plate and pops it in his mouth. "They're both delicious in different ways," he concludes and fuck, she's missed him.

He pushes his plate towards her and she takes a sweet potato fry without thought, taking a bite and _damn_ , they make them good here.

When she looks at Sam, he's staring at her like she betrayed him. "The number of times you slapped my hand -"

"You were a snotty kid who wanted more fries," Deanna interrupts him.

"What do you think this is?" Sam says, nodding toward Cas, who's taking another fry from Deanna's plate and dipping it into her ketchup. The way his brow furrows at the difference in temperature, the sweet and the salt, will probably be up there with Sam's 'most adorable moments before he became a snot.'

"He's been kicked out of Heaven, he can have some of my fucking fries," Deanna snaps, harsher than she meant and now she feels sick to her stomach, _fuck_. "I need some air," she mutters, slipping out of the booth and walking quickly out of the diner.

She breathes in the chilly April night and she wishes she changed into jeans because this dress was only appropriate for maybe three hours of the day when it was close to sixty degrees. Now it's winter temperatures and her leather jacket isn't cutting it.

She leans against the side of the Impala and shudders, feeling goosebumps emerge up her legs and down her arms. She seriously has to get her shit together because this is just embarrassing - what is she _doing_? Grounding herself by pressing her leg against his? Entertaining herself by watching him try new food? Sharing her _fries_? It's like -

"Deanna."

She turns her head and Cas is walking outside, his arms crossed over his chest with a disgruntled expression on his face. "It's cold."

"Yeah, it won't really get warm here for another month or so."

"Sam and Bobby told me to talk to you."

She snorts. "Of course they did. I'm fine. Sorry about...whatever that was." She bites her lip and kicks a larger piece of gravel with her toe. "I, uh..." she clears her throat, looking up but not at Cas, choosing to focus on the empty road ahead. "Did you saving me from those vampires - is that why you're here?" she asks because she can't fucking help herself.

She turns her head and catches him nodding. "Essentially, yes."

She squeezes her eyes shut. " _Why_?" she demands, opening her eyes, wanting to shake him because hasn't he learned by now that she's not fucking _worth_ all this bullshit?

"I would have done it a hundred times. I don't regret it," he states, voice lower than normal.

"I shouldn't have done it, called for you, it was a spur of the moment -"

"You wanted to _live_ , which is more than what you could claim three years ago," he quips and she supposes he has a point.

"How _did_ you do that, by the way?" she asks, side-stepping a little closer so her arm can brush up against his, blocking the cold air. "Did you start eating your Wheaties?"

"Wheaties?" He shakes his head. "I was...upgraded, if you will. But I may have been a tad overzealous."

"You left piles of _ash_ on the floor, Cas."

"Perhaps 'thorough' would be a more pleasing term."

She smiles and shakes her head.

"You still don't think you deserved to be saved," he concludes and that line sounds more ridiculous coming from a fallen angel wearing dress pants and shoes and a three-dollar t-shirt. He looks stupid, but he has no sense of what's embarrassing or not and she doesn't know if that's infuriating because she's going to have to teach him these things, or if it's endearing because he can almost get away with it.

"It seems a little unfair that I've cheated death a few times." Sometimes she still thinks about Layla, but she's so fucking afraid to check if she's alive or dead because she likes to stupidly believe that she's somehow okay. "Massively unfair, really," she corrects herself.

"Perhaps," Cas relents, "But you dedicate your life to saving people, which is honorable. The world needs the Winchesters, which Heaven is hesitant to acknowledge." He pauses for a moment, slowly rubbing his hands up and down his arms and he'll figure out that the heat of friction only happens when you move fast enough. "I'm sorry about hurting you. That wasn't my intention," he says and she automatically brings a hand up to her temple.

"It's okay. I was just glad that it meant you weren't dead, so."

Before Cas can say anything in response, Bobby and Sam walk out of the diner, each holding a bag. "We took care of the bill. Saved your fries," Sam says and it's an apologetic gesture.

She nods and unlocks her door. "Cas, get in the front seat and put your hands on the heaters. The last thing you need is to catch pneumonia."

**

Once they're settled in, everyone with a beer in their hands, Cas starts explaining how Heaven shut its doors and recalled all the angels back to the Garden. With only one archangel left, the angels debated on how to move forward, disappointed with the fact that God only came back from a brief moment in time to bring back two men and a falling angel.

A new hierarchy was considered. Raphael, who seemed to take God's latest actions as a sign, ironically seemed lost on what to do, so he wasn't very helpful during the proceedings. Deanna snorts into her beer and Cas briefly smiles before drinking his own, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

The angels weren't supposed to leave Heaven, not until Heaven was stable. Castiel spent a few human months finding ways around this - trying to dream walk from Heaven, but it was difficult, given that Heaven severed all connections to Earth and he wasn't powerful enough. The communicating through the Impala radio and Bobby's TV ("That was _you_? I bought a new TV 'cause of that bullshit!" Bobby yells, pissed) were last-ditch attempts.

"So...how did you get out then?" Sam asks, long since abandoned his drink. What a fucking waste of a good beer.

"An angel of my garrison pointed me in the right direction," Cas answers and doesn't go further than that. Probably protecting him or her in case Heaven is listening.

"After I had saved Deanna, I was recalled to Heaven immediately. The next few weeks in your time was spent deciding on what to do with me. Raphael fought for my obliteration, but most of the angels seemed to be in agreement that God wanted me to be alive, given the number of times I've been resurrected. So I was sentenced to humanity, stripped of most of my Grace and I shall die as a mortal man."

The silence is stifling and Deanna goes for Sam's lukewarm, flat beer because she can't bring herself to leave the couch to grab another one. "You said you don't have a human soul, so what happens when..." she trails off.

"I suppose I will become nothing."

She hates the way he sounds so _blasé_ about it. She chugs the beer with a grimace.

**

Sam and Deanna are brushing their teeth in silence in the cramped bathroom upstairs. He's standing in front of the mirror while she's sitting on the lid of the toilet, trying not think about _becoming nothing_.

He spits into the sink and says, "Souls and Grace are essentially pure energy, right? I'm sure there's a way to transform someone's Grace into a human soul, there has to be," as he fills a cup with water. He takes a sip and then spits again. "We'll figure it out."

She covers her mouth with a hand, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment by how fucking emotional she is about this because at least with this past year, she knew he was around, even if he wasn't on Earth or on this plane or whatever jargon he spouts when talking about the differences between Heaven and Earth. 

"Dee?"

She quickly stands up and spits in the sink, avoiding looking in the mirror, afraid of what she might be showing.

She can't avoid Sam's concern though. "He's back, at least," he says and she suddenly realizes that maybe he's felt just a little bit guilty the entire time, since Lucifer was the one who snapped his fingers and killed Cas.

"Yeah." She puts a hand on his arm for a second before dropping it.

"You want me to –"

"Nah, I got it."

He narrows his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches.

"Just show him how to fucking clean himself," she says, annoyed.

He grimaces. "Fine."

**

Deanna blows up the air mattress for Cas, putting it behind the couch for some semblance of privacy although he has to know by now that the Winchesters have seen a little too much of each other to begin with, so he's going to have to get used to it sooner or later.

Sam has taught him how to work the shower, where to clean and wash and when Cas comes down the stairs in sweatpants that cover his feet and one of her too large Pink Floyd shirts (she's going to fucking murder Sam in the morning, or at least douse his eggs with hot sauce), she thinks she's never going to get used to this (she may have to take him for a new blazer and shirt since his are blood-soaked through and it's not just because he'll need one to pretend to be an FBI agent).

She doesn't want to go upstairs to her bed and Cas is staring at her, probably for another direction since that's all they've been doing to him since he got here, which sits wrong with her because isn't that the perk of not being an agent of Heaven?

"If you're not tired you can read one of Bobby's books, just make sure you put it back where you found it. Or you can watch TV; just keep the volume down low. The last thing you want to do is wake up Bobby," she says and it's more of a ramble than anything else, but he deserves to make his own decisions like a grown ass man should and he seems to gather that in between it all, so he smiles.

"Perhaps I'll watch TV. Since my eyes seem to be too tired to read, but I'm still rather alert."

The way he talks is absurd and why he has to explain his reasoning is beyond her understanding, but she asks, "Do you want some company?"

So they watch TV together. She has control of the remote and she stops when he asks a question and she has to hide her face into his shoulder to muffle her laughter when he asks about the importance of a bedazzler being offered in an infomercial. 

They settle on _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ and he's one of those douches that complains about how unsanitary having sex in the surgery room is and how unrealistic such-and-such storyline is. She begins falling asleep halfway through an episode and she knows she's going to regret falling asleep on the couch because it kills the back like nothing else on this planet, but she's comfortable and Cas is _here_ , so it's easy to close her eyes and revel in the warmth of his side against hers.

**

She opens her eyes immediately in the dark, feeling off and the closest weapon is too far away from her, and Cas is no longer by her side. She forces herself up, ignoring her back's protests as she looks around the room and there's Cas, standing across from a man who looks like he partied too hard in the '70s or '80s and hasn't left that mindset.

"Deanna, this is Balthazar," Cas says, staring at her with significance and _this_ is the angel who helped him out.

She slowly gets to his feet and is self conscious that she's not wearing a bra under her shirt and how this Balthazar is totally aware of it, smirking at her.

" _The_ Deanna Winchester. You're quite famous in Heaven. Or I should say you're more infamous, these days," Balthazar says with a similar accent to Crowley's and it rubs her the wrong way. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares back defiantly.

"Balthazar is here on Heaven's orders to transform my Grace into a human soul," Cas explains and she can tell he's happy.

She exhales in relief - he won't become _nothing_ when he dies and she won't have to add that to every other thing she feels guilty about that rests on her shoulders. "Will it hurt?" she asks, shooting Balthazar a warning glare.

"Since I'm accepting the transformation, it shouldn't be painful," Cas answers and she doesn't know if he's lying to her to spare her, like she does with Sam, or if he's being truthful because he's always sucked at lying.

"Well, I gotta say, Castiel, her soul is something," Balthazar says, eyeing her again. "Bright, yes, but she's lucky the scars don't reflect on her pretty face."

She clenches her jaw and looks down at the floor because what the fuck do you even _say_ to that? She's always known she's been fucked up - it's not a surprise that her _soul_ or whatever reflects that.

But she glances up and finds Castiel staring at her, like he's looking directly into her and it's a lot better when he does it. "Every part of her soul is beautiful," Cas says with a small smile and it's directed towards _her_.

It's so fucking cheesy and awful and not even worthy of B-grade chick flick, but her heart is expanding in her chest and she feels like she's going to _cry_ at his sincerity because he's the _only one_ who's stuck around despite all her baggage and shit that comes out of her mouth and how she's the antithesis of a _proper woman_ , whatever the fuck that means these days.

She doesn't realize she's giving _everything_ away until she glances at Balthazar, who's looking at her like she's a brand new person.

She blushes so badly that she can feel heat radiating off her cheeks and down her chest. Balthazar turns away from her to nod at Cas, who nods back before Balthazar sticks a hand into Cas' chest cavity, all the way up to his forearm and he better not fucking ruin that Pink Floyd shirt because it's one of her favorites. Cas' face twists, but he doesn't groan or yell in pain. After about thirty seconds, Balthazar removes his hand and Cas promptly passes out, falling forward into Balthazar's arms.

He places him on the blowup mattress and tucks him in in a surprisingly human gesture before threatening her and she's tempted to laugh - all she's ever done is take care of the people she loves, it's not exactly new business for her.

Balthazar leaves in a flutter of wings, but not before saying, _oh yeah, did you know that in the end, he probably would've been promoted to archangel? Funny, that._

She goes up to her bedroom and doesn't sleep a wink.

**

After tossing and turning all night, she goes back downstairs at six in the morning to start making breakfast. Sam opens the bookstore on Mondays and Wednesdays and needs to be in before eight, so he should be up in a few minutes to run, then shower, then eat. She suddenly remembers her promise to douse his eggs in hot sauce, but decides to spare him for now, too tired to deal with his potential screams so early in the morning on no sleep.

Sam comes down the stairs, half-asleep and dressed to run with his _iPod_ in his hand. He waves to her and she smiles at him as he walks out the door.

She tries to be quiet, but Cas ends up stirring as she mixes the eggs and milk with a whisk. He lifts his head from the mattress and stares her down with droopy eyes. Definitely not a morning person, then.

"Sorry," she says, trying not to laugh at the way Cas grumbles to himself, his hair worse than it usually is and she's going to have to buy him a brush or a comb because it has to be knotty at this point. He rubs his eyes and pulls his hand back with a look of disgust. "Kids are told it's fairy dust," she explains, turning away for a moment to snicker.

"Fairies are mischievous enough to be the cause," Cas states, his voice rough with sleep and she hasn't heard his voice that low anywhere except her more blasphemous dreams.

"Wait," she says suddenly. "Fairies _exist_?"

"Have you not encountered one?"

" _No_!"

"Well, they are not seen by many - only those who have visited their realm can see them. Or if the fairy allows to be seen. It's probably not much of a surprise you haven't seen one - they've probably avoided you at all costs," he explains, pulling back the blankets, nearly losing his balance at the rush of blood when he stands up too fast. "Human bodies take too long to adjust," he murmurs to himself as he heads toward the stairs.

"Brush your teeth too. Every morning and every night," she tells him.

**

She makes them scrambled eggs and he glares at her when she gives him less than what she put on her own plate.

"I wasn't sure how you were feeling, yeesh," she exclaims, adding more eggs to his plate. "You're really not a morning person, are you."

"Why must I be differentiated as a 'not a morning person'?" he inquires, digging into his scrambled eggs. "These are very good," he tells her, pointing to the eggs with his fork.

She smiles at him before squeezing some ketchup on hers. "A morning person just means someone who is awake and raring to go when they wake up. You're not a morning person, judging by your pissy mood."

"And are there 'day people'?"

"Not really, everyone is technically a day person. There are night people, though. Those who stay up late and are productive at night."

"So am I a night person?" he asks, grabbing the ketchup and squeezing a dollop onto his plate. He dips a forkful of eggs into it and tries it. After chewing for a few seconds, he shrugs his shoulders.

"I guess we'll find out tonight," she says, getting up to refill her coffee. "Want some? It'll wake you up."

"Sure."

She pours him a mug and says, "Try it black, and if you don't like it, we can try milk and sugar."

It's like a fucking betrayal when he takes a sip and his face contorts into a gruesome expression, pushing the mug away.

"I should force you to drink it black until you like it," she mutters, taking out the container of milk and the sweetener Sam uses for his teas and lays it out in front of Cas. "Don't pour too much milk, it'll overflow. Otherwise, go to town. And know that I am judging."

"Why does my coffee preference require your judgment," Cas questions as he opens a packet of sweetener and dumps the contents in his mug. He stirs it with his fork and takes a tentative sip. "Much better," he declares and she supposes it could be worse.

"Balthazar told me that you were going to be an archangel," she says quietly, placing her fork down. "Is that true?"

He drums his fingers against the mug and it's fascinating to watch what human tics and quirks he picks up first. He drops his hands to his lap and he looks smaller than usual without the blazer and trench coat that are too big for him; it's hard to imagine that he could've been one of the most powerful beings in existence. "Yes."

She purses her lips together and looks down at her unfinished plate.

"I'm sure my brothers and sisters will fill the vacant archangel positions as best they can," he continues, picking up the mug again to drink.

"How can you stand this?" she hisses, like she can't help it and maybe she can't, maybe this is finally what breaks her.

"Stand what?"

" _This_! You're sitting at Bobby's rickety table in sweatpants and my old t-shirt with scars on your back that are _never_ going to go away and you're _human_ – you sleep and piss and eat and have trouble waking up in the morning like every other _ordinary person_. You could've been…I don't even know because I can't comprehend that kind of power in my _tiny, human brain_. And instead you're –"

"Human," he supplies and he looks content with the corner of his mouth upturned and how he's holding the mug between his hands, letting the heat seep into his palms and it takes the fight out of her. "I'm not angry with you, Deanna. I knew the consequences of my actions when I saved you from those vampires. I don't regret any of it. Please respect my stance on the matter. I am my own being with the right to make the choices I wish to make."

She exhales softly through her nose, nodding. It's hard to believe and she probably won't truly believe it for a long time, but the least she can do is let him live with his choices and not bring up what ifs that don't mean anything.

"Hey guys," Sam wheezes, coming in through the front door and sweating profusely.

"Go shower, I'll fix you a plate," she says, glad for the distraction. "And don't take up all the hot water with trying to wash your mane out."

He gives her the middle finger as he goes up the stairs.

She starts making another batch of scrambled eggs, knowing he's going to eat as much as her and Cas combined. While her back is towards Cas, fiddling with the stove, Cas asks, "Are you angry with my choice because I'm here permanently and you therefore feel obligated?"

She nearly burns herself on the pan. " _What_? Cas, _no_ ," she dissents, turning to face him. "You can stay with us forever if you damn well want to, I'm just - what if _you're_ unhappy with all this."

"I'm not unhappy," he says before narrowing his eyes. "Would _you_ be unhappy if I were to, as you said, stay with you forever?"

She had said _us_ , but maybe meant _me_ and the way his eyes are boring into hers is enough to let her know that he's referring to her. And maybe it is her decision since it's always been a matriarchy, ever since her dad died, and maybe long before that, when he handed her Sam bundled in blankets and told her to take care of him and run.

"I wouldn't," she whispers and she's had "Song For Sharon" stuck in her head for the past few hours and _I can keep my cool at poker, but I'm a fool when love's at stake, because I can't conceal emotion, what I'm feeling's always written on my face_ has become relevant to her life and she's so _fucked_.

Sam comes down the stairs in that moment and Deanna turns to the stove, trying to salvage the eggs as best she can. He thankfully doesn't comment on the half-burnt eggs or the strange tension in the room and only gives her a weird look before he leaves for work.

**

Deanna forces Cas to change into new clothes for the day, tosses him Sam's boots to wear, and says, "We're going shopping for jeans and shoes. Let's go."

Cas turns pink because he knows he has to lace the boots, but he doesn't quite understand the trick, so she does it for him and she resolutely focuses on his feet. "I'll teach you how to do it, it's not hard at all."

He walks awkwardly in Sam's shoes since they're definitely a few sizes too big, but it's the best they can do. She drives him to a retail store and they go to the shoes section first because he almost trips twice just in the parking lot.

They measure his foot and he seems to be about a ten, three sizes smaller than Sam, and they find him a sturdy pair of boots, perfect for hunting. But then he picks up a pair of _boat shoes_ , which is wrong to begin with while they're in South Dakota, and there's no way she's going to be associated with someone who wears _Sperry equivalents_.

She supposes it's because he's developed the Winchester complex of being incapable of actually being useless at anything and if he can't tie his shoes, then he might as well buy shoes that don't have laces, which is pretty sound logic, but. _Boat shoes_. (Anything's better than _flip flops_ , she supposes.)

"You're not wearing them in public," she warns him as she drops them into the cart and this is really, really bad how his blue eyes can easily sway her.

They move on to jeans and she throws a few sizes at him, guessing based upon what she bought Sam when he was a little under six feet, before he went off to Stanford. She pushes him into the dressing room and tells him to come out for every pair he tries on.

The first pair is way too big, already slipping down without his moving, revealing the boxer briefs she bought yesterday and she orders him back in the room so he won't see her flushing face (what the _fuck_ , she's over _thirty_ , for fuck's sake).

Thankfully the second pair he tries on fits perfectly. She pulls his back belt loop toward her to check the size of the jeans, like she used to when Sam was a kid and she couldn't remember what size he was during one of his many growth spurts.

She throws a few pairs of jeans into the cart and some long-sleeved shirts and more underwear. Cas wanders for a bit and he picks out a gray cargo jacket for himself, similar to the one he wore in the apocalyptic future and she rips it from his hands, putting it back on the rack and asking him to pick out a different color or _something_ , just anything but that.

He chooses a tan jacket instead and he looks at her with a concerned expression.

"Just...you wore a jacket like that in that... _fucked up_ version of the future," she mumbles in explanation, pushing the cart forward.

Cas places a hand on the cart, forcing her to stop. "You never went into detail about what happened."

"Not much to say, really," she says, pointedly shoving the cart forward.

But he pushes and prods and brings up 'don't ever change,' so she breaks and tells him about the drugs, how he wasn't lucid the entire time, high on some drug or another and how she was so _shattered_ in that future, not even human, that it fucking terrifies her that she's capable of being so cold and unblinking, under the right circumstances. She leaves out the history that future him and her shared and her kiss with future Cas, how she regrets that almost every fucking day and the days when she doesn't, she feels worse about herself and knows she's fucked up to the point of probably deserving Hell for a second round.

At one point, Cas steps forward and wraps his arms too tightly around her in a hug. "Cas, what the fu –"

"Isn't this what you're supposed to do when someone is distressed?" Cas asks, his lips too close to her ear.

"We're in _public_. And I'm _not distressed_."

"People hug in public," he retorts. "I've watched humanity for thousands of years and have seen people committing more salacious acts in public than this."

She laughs into his shoulder and wraps his arms around him, hugging the shit out of him too. "You creepy voyeur."

She ignores the people whispering and sighing as they walk by and she may have shut her eyes for a little bit, but who's going to know.

**

They spend a stupid amount of time in the shampoo shelves, Cas having to smell everything before coming to a decision and she has to step in a few times to tell him, _no, he can't have mixed berry shampoo that's for women_.

"It's silly that you differentiate your shampoos based on sex," he comments, putting back the obnoxious pink bottle on the shelf.

"Women's shampoo is specifically made to _treat_ women's hair, it's not that difficult of a concept to grasp," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"Then why does Sam use this brand of shampoo?" Cas points to one a shelf that's coconut-scented and definitely for women.

"Because he has long hair like a girl's and he actually likes the smell of coconut." She pauses. "It was mostly a joke when I got it," she admits.

He picks up another bottle and it's the kind she's recently been using. She's about to tell him _no_ , but he takes a whiff and says, "This is what you use."

She swallows and nods.

He puts it back on the shelf and takes another one off to smell. At least that one is specifically for men. "I like this one," he states, handing it to her to smell.

She takes it from him with a sigh, bringing it under her nose to whiff and it's a nice citrus scent that smells fresh. It'll be weird to associate it with Cas, when she's used to him smelling like an oncoming storm. "It's acceptable," she says, tossing it into the cart.

**

At one point he claims to be hungry in a borderline petulant manner and she laughs all the way to the checkout counter. "You're like a kid with how impatient you are."

"Hunger is an uncomfortable sensation," he says with a glare.

"Trust me, Cas, hunger is nothing compared to the other shit you're gonna have to deal with," she tells him as she loads the conveyor belt with their purchases. She then sneaks a glance at him, expecting him to still be glaring or worse, to claim that he wants a re-do, but Cas just sighs.

"You're not going to convince me that my being human is something to regret."

She looks down as she pulls out her wallet, searching for the proper change. "I just want you to know what you're getting into," she responds quietly. She slaps a few bills down with some coins before handing Cas a few bags to carry.

"You forget that I was stationed to watch the Earth for far longer than you can comprehend. I'm quite aware."

"Knowing and experiencing are two different things," she points out as they walk through the parking lot back to the Impala.

They drive back to Bobby's house in a bit of a rush because now Deanna is getting hungry. Cas is staring at her profile blatantly and she waits for about a minute before asking, "What the fuck are you staring at?"

"There is one thing I do not like about being human," he admits.

"Only one?" she half-jokes.

"I'm no longer capable of seeing human souls," he continues, still staring at her with a furrowed brow. She should probably warn him about doing that – he'll get wrinkles prematurely.

She remembers last night and blushes. "I doubt my soul is as nice to look at as someone like Mother Teresa's," she mutters.

"I've been told that her soul is quite beautiful," Cas says, "But I know yours."

" _Exactly_. You rebuilt me from the inside out, you dragged my ass out of the Pit and know every fucking awful, shitty thing I did in Hell. You know how I drink too much and fuck around and curse and treat people I care about like shit – there's no fucking way that all the good stuff I do overshadows all that."

"It doesn't _overshadow_ it," he says, frustration coloring his tone. "You are a wonderful example of the beauty of humanity. You have your weaknesses and vices and have committed egregious sins, but you're selfless and caring and heroic and possess other such admirable qualities. God favors you above all his creations for this very reason: you can ultimately be good despite the bad and ugly choices you make."

The car falls silent and she tries to avoid thinking about his pulling her out of Hell, how it hurt so fucking badly but how it gave her the best orgasm she ever had. "Not every angel thinks that way."

Cas sighs, finally looking away from her and gazing out his window. "No, unfortunately not. I hope that they will come to see in time what I see."

Silence again. She hits a red light ten minutes outside of Bobby's house and she curses under her breath, knowing they'll be stuck for a good three minutes.

"I remember," she blurts. "You pulling me out of Hell."

"Yes, I sensed that," he says and she doesn't realize she's trembling until he glances down at her hands on the wheel. "I was told that you would likely forget, hence my lack of surprise at the way you acted during our first meeting."

She winces. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that."

"Heaven's glory can be overwhelming."

"It wasn't _Heaven's glory_ , it was _yours_." Cas blinks in surprise and the car behind them honks incessantly. She jerks forward and grips the wheel tightly. "It wouldn't have felt _anything_ like that if anyone else got me. If, God forbid, _Uriel_ 'gripped me tight and raised me from perdition,' I would've remembered because I would've _expected_ his disdain for me. You were…" she trails off, thinking. "Unexpected. Too much."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Cas finally asks after a few seconds of tense quiet.

She barks a laugh. "I don't even fucking know at this point. Both?"

He looks confused, bless his heart. It's probably best he doesn't understand because she's not remotely equipped to unpackage that loaded comment.

**

Once they're back at Bobby's, she makes them grilled cheeses because there's really nothing in the fridge besides the shit she bought for Easter, so she'll start cooking that after lunch. Bobby comes in at some point, holding a few guns in his arms and he orders Cas to join him outside, _I'm gonna teach you how to shoot_.

She waves at them as they make their way outside, Cas shooting her worried looks, making her snicker. She can vaguely hear gunshots as she's cooking the lamb, which nicely summarizes her post-apocalyptic life.

**

She crashes early and jumps awake to herself screaming and her bedroom door flying open, all the men in her life pouring in with various weapons (except Cas, who just has a crazed glint in his eye and she forgets for a half second that he's human now).

"I'm fine," she says loudly, rubbing her face with one hand.

Bobby grumbles something incoherent and leaves while Sam asks, "You sure? That was worse than usual."

"Yeah," she answers, forcing herself not to put a hand over her heart, which is pounding too fast in her chest.

Sam nods and then pushes Cas into the room, causing him to stumble forward, before heading back to his room.

Deanna stares at Cas for a few seconds, who seems to be fading fast on his feet.

"You yelled my name," he says, voice more gravely than usual.

Thank Christ it's dark in the room so he can't see her flushing. "Nightmare." She runs a hand through her hair, wincing when she encounters knots.

He walks into the room and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, right by her knees and there's a rush of emotion at the familiarity of his lack of fucks given about personal space. 

"I'm fine, Cas," she says, trying to be kind. "You don't have to play guardian angel."

She winces, but he doesn't react in any way that she can see. Looking down, she starts carding her fingers through her hair carefully, untangling knots and attempting to braid her hair, but failing.

"What are you doing?" he inquires, tilting his head.

She grunts in frustration. "Braiding my hair, but that's not happening." She drops her arms in defeat.

"I can braid your hair," he offers, much to her surprise.

"Huh?"

He lowers his gaze and this time she can tell he's a little sad. "In the beginning...while I was still getting used to this - to Jimmy's body, his muscle memories were...beyond my control." He flexes his hands. "I believe I saw a little girl walking down the street with her mother and as I watched her hair bounce, for a moment, Jimmy's muscle memories involving braiding Claire's hair came forward, almost like a tic or a muscle spasm." He looks up at her and she reads guilt a fucking mile away, too familiar with it herself.

She wordlessly turns around, shaking her head so her hair falls down her back.

He's gentle as he parts her hair and takes his time, careful not to pull too tightly (he knows all her sins and virtues he has to fucking know that the right kind of hair pulling is one of her kinks).

The braid is looser than she normally has it, but she slides a hand over it and thanks him.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward in a faint, tired smile and she almost offers him to stay, but instead lowers herself back into bed, bringing an arm back so she can rest her head on her forearm as she stares at him. "I should have a dreamless sleep," she tells him.

He nods and stands up, wincing at the effort. "Goodnight, Deanna."

"'Night, Cas."

He leaves her room and shuts the door quietly behind him.

She falls asleep to the phantom memories of his fingers combing through her hair, brushing against her scalp.

**

Over the next few weeks, Deanna learns a few things about Cas:

He's absolute _shit_ with an automatic, but is pretty damn good with a rifle; he's not the best fighter in the world, the programmed tendency to reach out a hand and smite is hard to beat out of him, but Sam is patient and Deanna just whacks him in response and figures that habit has got to die soon enough if he wants to stop being hit.

His taste in music is eclectic since he likes almost everything he listens to, but always needs something to listen to while trying to fall asleep, the silence in his head from not hearing the other angels driving him crazy, so whenever she wakes up in the middle of the night and strains her ears, she can hear the likes of Cat Stevens or more modern bands and musicians she doesn't care about.

He likes folding clothes and willingly does all their laundries (she tries not to die when she catches him attempting to fold one of her thongs); his favorite Beatles album is _Revolver_ , which Deanna never would've guessed, figuring he would've gone for _Help!_ or one of their earlier albums, but his favorite song is "Dear Prudence," which she finds a little bizarre and makes her shudder ( _the sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful and so are you_ ); he prefers Heineken, which is a joke because there's no way they're spending that much on a goddamn beer, but he doesn't even fucking wince when taking a shot of cheap whiskey, so he's almost redeemed ( _Heineken, though_ ).

He's even more bizarre as a human than he was as an angel; a weird bundle of contradictions, and it's interesting to watch him grow into himself.

**

It's the one-year anniversary of the stopping of the apocalypse and it seems like every hunter in the goddamn country wants to meet up to celebrate. Bobby claims he's not going anywhere and if they want a goddamn party, they better make the trek to South Dakota and _nobody is staying at his house_.

(Roy and Walt are _not_ allowed, of course.)

Deanna calls Rufus and tells him to come, but Bobby and Cas glare daggers and she has to call him back to tell him, "Maybe next year," as she side-eyes them both.

There are a few familiar faces from her childhood and Bobby introduces them to Garth, who is the weirdest fucking guy she's ever met.

"How is he still alive?" Deanna asks in Sam's ear.

"I have no idea, but he hugged me when he realized we had the same exact laptop," Sam whispers with a shudder.

She pats his back in sympathy. "Drink the pain away."

Tamara even comes, who seems to be doing well.

"I'm seeing someone – he's not a hunter, but he respects what I do," she explains to Deanna at a table while the boys play pool (Cas is only allowed to hold the money since he's not to be trusted at a pool table, nearly whacking everyone within the cue stick's radius the last time he tried). "Thank you, for what you did. I know you Winchesters technically started the apocalypse, but you cleaned up your mess. You did well."

Deanna looks down at her beer. "Thanks, I guess," she mutters, a little embarrassed by her praises.

There's loud cheering from the pool table and Tamara turns back to see what's happening. "Your angel is interesting," she says, turning back to face Deanna.

Deanna snorts. "You have no idea."

"I think he gives all of us a little needed faith."

Deanna takes a swig of her beer. "I don't know, sometimes it makes me worried that Heaven lost its best chance at becoming remotely decent."

Cas suddenly comes barging towards her, cheeks flushed and shoulders hunched, eyes wide with desperation. "I'm being slapped on the back too much. I don't understand why this is considered a means of affection. It hurts."

She snorts. "Sit down," she says, sliding into the booth more and tugging his shirt hem down. He obeys and he sways a little in his seat. "You okay?"

"I am drunk."

"I can gather that much. This is Tamara," Deanna says, gesturing across the table. "Tamara, this is Castiel."

"Nice to officially meet you, Castiel," Tamara says, holding out her hand for him to shake.

"You as well," he responds, shaking her hand. He then leans back against the booth, shutting his eyes.

"The night is still young, Cas," Deanna singsongs, nudging her shoulder against his arm.

"They kept buying me beers," he slurs.

"I know, be grateful. I certainly am."

"Would it be inappropriate to take a nap?"

" _Yes_ , come on, Cas." She shakes his knee, but he stubbornly keeps his eyes closed. She rolls her eyes at Tamara, but she has a knowing smirk on her face.

"I think I'm going to teach a few of those rednecks how to really play pool," Tamara says, standing up and leaving them alone.

"I blew up today," Cas murmurs before cringing, eyes still shut. "It hurt."

She puts her hand back on his knee and squeezes it briefly. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I've heard all your Hossanas while I was in Heaven."

She's glad her face is already pink from the alcohol so her blush isn't too obvious (not that he'd pick that up anyway – he's still clueless when it comes to certain social cues). "Just accept the thank you, you ass. Ass-butt." She grins in memory. "Where the fuck did you hear that, anyway?"

"It just…rolled off the tongue, as you say."

She shakes her head. "Get up for a sec, I'll order you a coffee."

He opens one eye to look at her and he's so clueless about how pretty he actually is, how most of the women who've been in the bar tonight have checked him out and yet he doesn't notice at all.

He groans dramatically and slowly gets to his feet and she's almost disappointed – she was about to straddle his waist to get out, just to piss off everyone else.

**

Deanna has always said that you know you're in deep when you jerk off to someone you know – not a celebrity, but a person you actually know and like.

(It's the one-year anniversary of the stopping of the apocalypse and she's officially in deep. _Fuck_ , she hisses into the night, head buzzing with alcohol and from her orgasm, her fingers still inside her. At least she had the fucking mind not to say his name on top of it all.)

**

That night, Cas has his first proper nightmare, screams and all, and she shoves Bobby and Sam up the stairs to give Cas privacy, stripping the sheets off the blow up mattress and admitting in a low voice that she pissed herself every night after getting out of Hell for a month straight, but his cheeks are still a furious red.

He showers and changes into fresh clothes and she throws everything into the washing machine in the basement. While waiting, they flip through channels, Cas stiff a foot away from her, still embarrassed.

She jabs him in the ribs with a finger.

" _Ouch_ ," he hisses, glaring at her.

"Get over it. It's fine. I'm not judging. Neither Sam or Bobby either."

He turns red again. "It's childish," he mutters, eyes focused on the TV. It's his most human response yet.

"You fought off fucking Lucifer and exploded a year ago. You get a free pass for the rest of your life, alright? Come on, let me show you how to work the dryer, it should be done by now."

While switching the load into the dryer, Castiel says, "I wasn't dreaming about Lucifer."

She pauses before shutting the door, slow in turning the knob and pressing the button to start it. "Oh. Do you want to share, or…?"

The dryer humming fills in the silence and she waits for him to say something. He's focused on the dryer, the way it's vibrating and she suddenly remembers Lisa mentioning that sitting on the dryer can bring about a great orgasm, which isn't helpful to this situation at all (although she's found that fucking the nightmares out is a good solution).

"Heaven. What…I experienced when I was forcibly removed from my vessel," he answers finally.

It takes her a few seconds to realize what he's talking about – she was too distracted at the time to give a fuck about what bible camp did to him. "You never went into detail about what happened," she says and he finally looks at her, surprised, and manages to smile in recognition.

"It's difficult to explain, but it was painful, to put it in simpler terms."

She scrapes her bottom lip with her teeth and crosses her arms, not knowing how to respond, not knowing if she's going to be enough for him – nobody can possibly relate to him or sympathize totally with him and it scares her that she's the closest thing he's going to get.

She brings a tentative hand to the small of his back, leading him up the stairs.

"Well, uh, when it stops being difficult or…whatever. I'm listening," she says, stilted as she curls her fingers into shirt.

He repeats her action, bringing a hand to her back, big and warm and she has to stop herself from leaning back into it. "Thank you."

They end up falling asleep on the couch halfway through some animated children's movie and it's really fucking rare when she likes waking up next to a person, given all the unpleasant factors including overheating, morning breath, and hair tickling in awkward places.

The sun is just beginning to rise and she's comfortable resting in the crook of his neck, her hand laced with his and she's not surprised by it - there were too many nights when Sam was a kid and she'd hold his hand throughout the night whenever he got scared.

She lets go of his hand and forces herself to get up, shivering at the lack of body heat. She takes the throw blanket that fell to the floor at some point during the night and drapes it over him.

When she turns to go upstairs, Cas shifts and blinks awake, hazy blue eyes landing on her.

She smiles, feeling a rare contentedness settle in her bones.

He slowly blinks and returns her smile with one that's equally quiet, something that almost makes her tremble because she's never on the receiving end of that look, _ever_.

**

Sam and Cas start running together in the mornings (well, in the mornings when Cas can actually get up since he likes to stay up late reading and watching TV, insatiable in his absorbing pop culture and she can't stop wondering if that insatiability can transcend to the physical plane) and while they're out, Bobby comes into the kitchen and says, "What do you plan on doin' when Sam goes off to school?"

She purses her lips as she drops the newspaper onto the table. "Hunt again. Cas should be ready enough to handle it by then."

"Is that what Cas wants?" Bobby sits down across from her. "We kind of just threw him into it."

"Even if he didn't want to be a hunter, I'd feel better knowing he could defend himself," she says, drinking her coffee. "But he does. He asked me last night about getting an anti-possession tattoo. I was gonna take him into town sometime this week."

She goes back to reading the paper and she can hear Bobby lean back in the creaky wooden chair. "So this is how it's gonna be, huh?"

She smiles a little. "It's kind of nice."

**

Sometimes she catches him staring off into space, a hand over his heart - she doesn't ask him about it, but she hopes that there's some sort of comfort in feeling your own heart beat under your palm.

**

Cas gets his anti-possession tattoo, which he's diligent about taking care of. He also becomes fascinated with body art and tattoos in general, taking to doodling wings in the corners of books he reads.

"The battles we fought in were seared onto our Graces," Cas explains to her while she's fine-tuning the Impala outside in the fresh air. He's painting the open field past the Salvage Yard and he's actually pretty good with the landscapes. Sam got a painting kit for him a few days ago, figuring he might as well make the lie into a truth and Cas really likes it.

"That's pretty badass," she says. "Are you thinking about getting them tattooed on you?"

"No, I don't have an adequate amount of space on this body to possibly record everything."

Sometimes she forgets how old he truly is when he nicks himself shaving like a teenage boy and how his eyes light up when he actually understands a pop culture reference.

"I thought having wings on my back would be symbolic enough of my life as an angel of the Lord," he continues.

"Well…at least yours would have meaning than the assholes who get them because they look cool."

"Do you not think I should get them?"

She rolls out from under the car to look at him. "I think it's your body and you should do whatever you want to it."

"You hold reservation."

She sits up, wiping sweat off her forehead with her arm. "Tattoos are permanent, you don't want to end up getting a huge thing and then end up regretting it, maybe coming up with a better way to…say what you want to say, I guess. Besides, if you thought _that_ was a bitch," she adds, nodding towards the tattoo on his chest, "then imagine getting one for your entire back."

He hums in thought, putting down his paintbrush carefully onto the pallet as he turns to her. "Perhaps my garrison in Enochian will do," he considers.

"What would it look like?" she asks, curious, slowly getting up and trying to ignore the fact that it's getting a little harder now.

Cas carefully tears his current work out of his sketchbook and places it to the side. He then takes a smaller brush and dips it in his blue, gesturing her to come over with his other hand. He paints five symbols onto the page, from top to bottom. "That is my garrison." He furrows his brow. "I'm afraid I can't say the words anymore."

She looks down at him and places a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name in Enochian?"

He stares at his garrison's name for a few seconds before dipping his brush in the paint again. This time he writes two symbols next to his garrison. "The higher ranking angel you are, the more you have to your name," he explains.

"So if you were promoted to archangel, would your name change?"

"Yes, about…sixteen other characters would be added."

"Yeesh. Wouldn't that be a mouthful?" she jokes.

"Power is held in a name. Raphael's full name could cause mountains to crumble."

She smirks. "Yeah, well, like that did him any good."

He smirks too and it's downright _devilish_. "This is true."

"What's my name?"

He glances up at her in surprise before slowing drawing four symbols. "In Heaven, to the angels, this is your name. The Righteous Man."

"You think they would've changed it when they realized I was a chick," she snorts.

"The word 'man' has no gender connotation in Heaven."

"Hm." She crouches down for a closer look. "I don't want to know what they call Sam, do I?"

"Probably not," he agrees. "Although I did create alternative names for you and Sam," he adds, tearing the page out. "But it was not my strong suit – the formation of new Enochian in my garrison was Inias' job. He was the angel in the male vessel who brought me back to Earth."

"And who was the bitch?"

He shoots her a warning look. "Hester." He dips his brush in the paint again and then paints six symbols. Reading them causes warmth to blossom in her chest. "This is Sam's name," he says unnecessarily.

"Isn't that blasphemous for a human to have more symbols than an angel or something?"

"Especially since in Sam's case, his Enochian title, which is what it is, only takes one symbol," he agrees with a twitch of his mouth.

"Alright, what's mine?"

He looks down at the page. "There isn't enough space on the page."

She flushes. "You mean to tell me you gave me a longer name than an archangel?" She laughs, but it sounds strained to her ears. She lowers herself onto the ground, sitting on her heels. "Why don't you give me a nickname? It's only fair."

"You can't _shorten_ Enochian."

"Why not? Just do it."

He rips out the page and stares down at the blank sheet intensely. She holds her breath when he slowly moves across the page, tendons shifting in his hand and his eyes bluer than the goddamn sky. He may be human now, but sometimes she thinks he's still celestial on some level or another.

When he finishes, there are only four symbols on the page and when she looks over them, she gets a rush, an echo of what she felt when he pulled her out of Hell – pain and pleasure mingling together – but there's something fundamentally different about it too: she feels understanding and confusion and admiration and frustration and when he looks at her for a reaction, it's easier to press her lips against his, fingertips lightly touching his jawline.

He's frozen against her and when she pulls back, fingers curling into her palm, his eyes are wide open. _Shit_.

"Uh," she falls back on her heels. She's tempted to reply with _been wondering whether I'd like it_ , but Cas hasn't seen any classic films and she's not feeling nearly as cool as Lauren Bacall. "Sorry, that was…"

But Cas surprises her by surging forward, hands on her face to kiss her back. It's too hard and sloppy at the same time, so she has to pull back, trying not to laugh and failing as she steadies herself with her hands on his shoulders. "Do I want to know what you watched for that move?" she asks, grinning.

"A film called _The Notebook_ ," Cas answers without shame.

She shakes her head. "Ugh, Cas."

"It was supposed to be very romantic."

"Did Sam make you watch that shit?"

"It was on TV at one in the morning."

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. "We need to start censoring what you watch."

"Would _Titanic_ be better?"

" _No_."

"What about _Never Been Kissed_?"

"What the fuck even is that –" But then she notices the way he's smiling and she opens her mouth in shock. "You're joking. You actually – you son of a –"

But he cuts her off with a much softer kiss, one that her exhale shakily through her nose, that actually makes her heart race and nerves fire off.

"I understand," he says, pulling back, voice rough enough to make her toes curl.

"Understand what?"

"Why you humans are constantly distracted by this."

" _You humans_ ," she mocks, tugging on his hair. "You're human too."

His eyes crinkle in a smile. "Yes."

She drops her hands to her lap, sighing as she shifts to sit properly on the ground.

"I got paint on your face," he tells her, pointing to her cheek.

She brings a hand to her face and she can feel the rough texture of the dried paint. "I've had worse."

"Does this mean we are in a relationship?"

It's one of those instances when she thinks she should've been born with a dick because the way she freezes makes her a _total dick_. "Uh –"

"Dee!"

She whips her head to find Sam rushing toward her, blanched face and terrified. "Sam, what are you –"

"Wendigo – up in North Dakota," Sam wheezes. "Tommy and Will went camping –"

She gets to her feet and says to Cas, "Let's go."

**

"Is that paint on your face?" Sam says as he's unloading the Impala, his voice low so Cas won't overhear. Although she doubts he'd be able to hear since Tommy and Will are in the Impala loudly sobbing.

"Shut up."

"…Did I _interrupt_ something?" Sam asks, eyebrows raised.

"Probably for the best," she answers, slipping her flare gun into one of her holsters. "I was in dick mode."

"When are you not?"

She elbows him in the gut and goes over to Cas with a second flare gun. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"You look nervous."

He has a guilty expression on his face. "A little."

"It'll be a synch. We'll find the bastard and roast him."

He nods. "Fire or silver-tipped bows and arrows," he mutters to himself.

"Fire is cleaner." She hands him the flare gun.

His fingers curl around it and she watches him take a deep breath and stand up straighter. Even in a t-shirt and jeans, he still looks like the soldier he was in the ill-fitting suit and trench coat.

"Let's get this fucker," Deanna says, marching into the woods with Sam and Cas following her.

**

It's almost late morning when they drive back to Bobby's. Deanna is flooring it, crazed and raring to kill more and Sam is terrified in the passenger seat, covered in dirt, while Cas is in the backseat, passed out since he can't handle the rush of adrenaline and the subsequent loss (he will eventually, with time).

"Dee –"

"Not now, Sam."

Sam sighs. "It's okay –"

"No it's not."

"You're allowed to freak out – you thought Cas was going to be eaten –"

"Shut the _fuck up_ , Sam, before I beat you with this," she growls, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a handheld gun.

"Alright, alright, just. Slow down, would you? The last thing we need is a cop pulling us over."

She marginally lifts her foot off the gas pedal.

**

It's lunchtime when they pull up to Bobby's house. Sam and Deanna wordlessly get out of the car, Deanna opening the backseat and shaking Cas' shoulder. Cas groans into the leather, but lifts his head up.

"Come on, we're back. You can sleep all you want on a bed."

She helps him get to his feet, keeping an arm around his waist even though she doesn't have to. Bobby greets them by tossing burgers at them. Cas doesn't even complain about it, just immediately plopping down at the table, opening the paper wrapping, and scarfing the burger down.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asks after a few minutes.

"One of the kid's dads is dead. Found him in a tree. Saved the other, though."

Bobby narrows his eyes at Deanna. "And?" he prompts, annoyed.

"I was taken by the Wendigo," Cas answers, getting up with a wince towards the fridge. He takes out two water bottles.

"Get me the whiskey," she tells him.

He puts a bottle back and takes the whiskey out from the cabinet.

"It was my fault," he continues, placing the whiskey in front of her. "I underestimated the creature's speed."

Deanna unscrews the cap and takes a long drink.

"It was stupid to bring you," she mutters once she places the whiskey down. "Should've taken you on a salt and burn first."

Cas bristles in indignation. "You're speaking as if I'm a child."

"Cas, _I_ was captured by a Wendigo a few years ago and I've been hunting since I was thirteen, cool your fucking jets," she snaps.

"Both of you just shut up," Bobby orders. Upstairs, the shower turns off. "Cas, you're next in the shower. Git."

He glowers at both of them before popping in the last of the burger into his mouth, taking the water bottle with him as he goes upstairs.

Once he's gone, Bobby narrows his eyes at her. "You flipped the fuck out, didn't you?"

She grimaces and drinks from the whiskey again.

"Jesus, Deanna," Bobby mutters, hand out for the bottle.

She slides it over to him before hiding her face in her hands. "I'm so fucked."

"Nah," he says, lowering the bottle from his mouth. He looks like he swallowed a bug. "You're fine. It's –"

"Don't say it."

He scoffs. "Idjit."

"Fuck off."

"Hey, who's been housing you this past year? Watch your mouth."

She rubs her eyes and leans back in her chair. "Sorry," she grumbles.

She can hear him stand up and walk toward her. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it. "Get some shut eye. I'll be outside workin'."

She opens her eyes and pats his hand before he leaves her in the kitchen alone.

**

Sam's door is already shut, so he's asleep. The shower is still running and she rests her back against the doorframe to her room, waiting.

She shuts her eyes and she can hear him humming fucking Joni Mitchell and that's it, she's so fucking tired of even resisting at this point.

The shower shuts off and he's still humming "Help Me" as he putters around the bathroom. Eventually he opens the door, towel wrapped around his waist and hey, at least he's not too much of a skinny bastard anymore – she's beginning to see muscle tone.

"Did I take too long?" he asks.

She shakes your head. "No, uh. Just. Stay up here, would you?"

He looks down at himself.

She shuts her eyes briefly. "Just change and then come back upstairs, okay?"

"Okay," he says, looking at her funny before going downstairs to change as she enters the bathroom to shower.

She only takes five minutes in the shower – good ol' Daddy drilled her into _stop being a girl and shower quick like a good soldier, you're my good soldier, right baby?_

She towel-dries her hair and wraps a towel around her, steam trailing behind her when she opens the bathroom door. Cas is standing awkwardly in the middle of her room in and she considers kicking him out for a second or telling him to close his eyes, but he knows every scar, freckle, wrinkle, and fold of her body, what's the point? She drops her towel in front of her dresser, slipping on a cheap pair of underwear and a wife beater.

She turns around and Cas has his head tilted, as if trying to read her, even though he can't anymore, at least not the way he used to.

She cards a hand through her damp hair as she walks toward the bed, which is a double, it'll be a tight squeeze, but she thinks they'll make do for now. "Get in," she tells him when he continues to stare at her.

He finally makes his way to the other side of the bed. She rolls her eyes as she lifts the blankets up for him, but tries to stop her heart from pounding in her chest by how close he is. She should be used to his invasion of personal space and she's used to sharing her bed, in between splitting with Sam growing up and the number of people she's had sex with, crashing on their mattresses or on hers.

She lies down on the bed, rolling to her side to face Cas, who mirrors her position. He's still confused, but his eyelids are drooping. "This is rather tight," he comments, eyes fluttering shut.

She snorts a little. "That's what she said."

"Who?"

She reaches out without thought to brush his hair back. "No one, just sleep."

He hums, turns his head into the pillow more, his breaths evening out with a minute.

She inhales, inching a little closer until their legs brush before closing her eyes.

**

Deanna wakes up with her hand up the back of Cas' shirt, her thigh in between is, feeling him half-hard against her, and a need to piss like no other.

Still drowsy and generally lacking proper consciousness, she stumbles out of bed for the bathroom. She also brushes her teeth, remembering she hasn't brushed them since the day before.

By the time she's done, she's more awake, noting that Sam's door is still shut, although he could've left for his shift, which he luckily didn't miss (or unluckily, which she thinks). The house is otherwise quiet, so Bobby must still be outside, even though it's close to dusk.

She walks back into her room and quickly slips under the blankets. Cas is still sleeping, but he shifts at her added weight on the mattress.

"Deanna," he says with eyes shut and it honestly sounds like sex.

She rests her head back on the pillow, close enough so she can rest her forehead against his. He creaks open his eyes at the touch and then closes them again, a hint of a smile on his face.

She wets her bottom lip with her tongue and admires how content he looks for a few moments. "Hey, Cas?"

"Hmmm."

She lifts a hand to the back of his neck, carding through his hair at the nape. He's going to need a haircut soon. "You know how you asked about…if we were in a relationship?" she asks, stilted and awkward.

"Yes."

"Well, uh…it depends. Just because we kissed doesn't mean we need to get hitched or anything."

He finally opens his eyes, which look stupidly blue. "Is that a no?"

She shakes her head a little, squeezing her eyes shut. "It means I don't want you to feel _obligated_ or anything."

She opens her eyes to find him staring at her like he does when he confronts something new and strange about humanity. "I don't feel obligated. Do you?"

"No."

He furrows his brow. "This is quite confusing," he admits.

She sighs, leaning in to kiss him, moving her lips softly against his. One of his arms snakes around her, hand running over the skin of her hip to the small of her back, making her shiver.

She slips a leg between his to get closer and he surprises her by rolling her onto her back, tongue in her mouth and his body heavy on top of hers. Her hand in his hair tightens as her hips roll up to meet his, causing him to groan against her mouth and grind down harder.

She lifts her head up and grins, about to make a dick comment about de-virginzing him and how this is going to be the best thing _ever_ , teaching him all about sex, but he drags his lips from her jaw to her neck and she's a fucking _goner_ for stubble against the nape of her neck, making her gasp.

(Okay maybe he does know a thing or two.)

She brings one of her hands to his collarbone, down the planes of his shirt-clad chest, down, down, following the trail of hair between his hips, but freezes when she hears the floorboards outside her room squeak. She waits for a few tense seconds, Cas groaning softly into her neck, but then she hears footsteps going down the stairs.

She sighs, pulling her hand back, resting it on his hip. "That was probably Bobby and I don't know more of a boner killer than Bobby."

" _Your_ 'boner' may be killed," he grumbles, lifting his head up and yeah, he's still hard.

"Well you know how to jerk off, right?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "Yes."

"Well, you can do that," she points out happily, lifting herself up into a sitting position. "Just curious, when did you start?"

"The first complete day of being human," he answers and she fucking loves how unashamed he is. "I was quite curious about humans' obsession with it."

"During your first shower, wasn't it," she states rather than questions with a smirk.

He falls back, sitting across from her with an exasperated expression. "Your maturity is astounding."

"Hey, I didn't start masturbating on my first day of human life."

"Well now I've lost my 'boner.'"

She chuckles, looking down at the space between them. "Yes, by the way," she says, looking up at him.

He squints at her. "Yes," he repeats.

She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip. "Yeah."

He smiles. "Okay."

**

She throws on a pair of Sam's old shorts before going downstairs, finding Bobby on one of the phones. She goes for a bag of chips by the fridge, hopping up to sit on the counter.

"Yeah, yeah, just follow his orders, he knows what he's doing," Bobby says gruffly, rolling his eyes before hanging up. "Garth will outlive us all."

"Probably," she agrees, pulling out a chip. "Although he may die of alcohol poisoning. He got drunk off of _one beer_. Cas has been human for two months and already can keep up with the rest of us. It's embarrassing."

"So…is it a… _thing_ now?" Bobby asks, wincing.

She groans. "What do you mean, _a thing_?"

"Cas wasn't sleeping down here and he sure as hell wasn't bunking with Sam," he says.

"Are you going to play Daddy and threaten a rifle in his face?" she asks, incredulous.

"No, I think you can kick his ass just fine by yourself."

"Then what's the fucking problem?"

"I just hope you know what you're gettin' into. You're gonna be stuck with him for life."

Cas comes down the stairs with flushed cheeks and she's going to enjoy doing that to him herself.

"Eh, could be worse," she says, a smile growing on her face. "Hey, Cas, want to pester Sam at work and see how long it takes to bring out the bitch face?"

"The bitch face?"

"You know…" She pinches her mouth and narrows her eyes. "That face."

He stops in front of her and reaches into the bag of chips, taking out two. "I don't believe you need me for that."

"No, this is for your benefit. Besides, you're gonna need to start learning how to drive."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're going to let me drive the Impala?"

She stares at him as if he's insane. "The fuck? _No_ , it'll be a _lecture_. No way I'm letting you touch her until you're a master." She hops off the counter and she's _right_ in his personal space. "I just have to change," she says, mentally debating on wearing her short-shorts to see how far she can push Cas' buttons, if he has any particular ones now. Or maybe, she'll just have to create ones for him – she should probably feel more worried about ruining him, but for now she likes the way his heated gaze starts on her face and slides downwards; he's catching on.

**

She parks a few streets away and Cas waits for her to walk around the car, holding his hand out expectantly.

She stares at it for a few seconds before saying, "You don't need me to hold your hand while you cross the street – aren't you tell me to _not_ treat you like a child?"

He shoots her a pointed look. "Isn't this what people in relationships do?"

"What are -" She flushes in realization. "Do I really look like the kind of person who _holds hands_?"

He drops his hand. "I apologize."

She sighs, feeling _guilty_ of all things, even though he doesn't look disappointed or anything. "Do you want to? Hold hands?"

"I've never held anyone's hand in that manner. Or...any manner, really."

She opens her mouth to counter it, that she must've taken his hand and pulled him around or something, but maybe not. She glances around, but the street is pretty empty, so she takes his hand, torn between liking and hating how it makes her stomach flip because that is some awful, basic school girl bullshit, but he gets that small smile on his face that always stops her from thinking like a bitter bastard.

"I understand," he says as they walk across the street.

She might slow her strides a little just so she can keep holding on for a little longer. "What?"

"That song about wanting to hold your hand. I found it to be quite strange at first, how such a simple touch of palms and fingers could warrant such joy when there are more areas of the human body with more nerve endings to induce pleasure, but there is a certain kind of pleasure to be found in this."

She figured that there were going to be times when she would question being in a relationship with Cas as soon as she said yes, but she didn't think it would happen an hour after the fact. "The Beatles. ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand.' _Meet the Beatles!_ , first hit."

"Ah," he says, nodding. "I tend to skip to ‘I Saw Her Standing There.'"

And she immediately stops questioning it because it's going to be shit like that preventing her from being remotely smart or rational about him. "Good choice."

They turn the corner onto the street where the bookstore is and she reluctantly lets go of his hand. "I, uh, want to tell Sam myself."

"Alright." He pauses. "Will this be a problem?" he asks her.

She snorts. "No, but it's just. A courtesy, I guess? It's a human thing."

He nods even though she knows he doesn't really get it.

"I hope to tell him at dinner while he's drinking something," she continues, "he'll probably snort it up his nose it'll be great."

She opens the door for him, the tinkling of bells irritating her, and he nods in thanks and steps inside.

Since Sam is by the register and lifting a bottle of soda, she decides now is as good of a time as any. As soon as he starts drinking, she says, "Cas and I are fucking," just to be a little shit.

As predicted, Sam snorts soda up his nose and starts coughing up a storm, making her cackle and Cas look on in confusion.

"But we haven't consummated –"

"I'm happy for you guys, I really am," Sam wheezes, holding up a hand to Cas to stop him from continuing, "but _too much information_. I don't want to know anything." He straightens himself up, glaring at Deanna. "You're awful. Soda _burns_."

Deanna shoots him a beaming smile.

**

"So…you and Cas…" Sam starts after dinner that night, he and Deanna sitting outside on the front porch together, a beer in each of their hands.

Deanna rolls her eyes. "Really, Sam?"

"What?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Like that wasn't coming at all." He pauses for a moment. "Are you…nervous or scared about it?" he asks more seriously. "I mean, you can be. When was the last time you were serious about anyone?"

She looks away from him and shakes her head slowly. "You know," she starts, holding back a laugh. "I think I kind of love the son of a bitch." She brings the bottle up to her mouth to take a long pull.

He shrugs his shoulders. "We've dealt with weirder shit before."

She reaches over to punch him in the arm, but smiles at him.

"Well I think it's mutual, so," he says while rubbing his arm with a wince.

She finishes off her beer. "We'll see how quickly his emotional capacity expands, but since he's actually smiling," she shrugs, "who knows. I may get a love confession out of him yet."

"I'm sure it'll be during sex," he jokes, but looks a little queasy for saying it.

She throws her head back and laughs. "Then he'll officially be a real boy."

It's not like she's dying for him to say the words – he doesn't really need to, not when he tentatively curls a strand of hair behind her ear while lying together in bed, awkward but still willing to try and that is going to get him far. (Especially in bed.)

**

Deanna finds Castiel lying on the grass a few hundred yards away from the house. He took the throw blanket off the couch to rest on and she has to tell him that it's not meant for the outdoors, but she can cut him some slack, especially since he's half asleep on it anyway.

She steps forward so she blocks the sun from him, causing him to open one eye. He blinks and stares at her, head tilted a little. "You have a halo," he states.

Her mouth twitches and she brings a hand through her hair fisting it in the back of her skull.

"I've made you uncomfortable."

She exhales through her nose and raises her eyebrows once. "You don – didn't have one. A halo."

"In a way, yes, I did." He shuts his eyes. "Would you mind sitting down? You're blocking the sun."

She grins, dropping her hand. "Are you feeling _uncomfortable_? Being _stared_ at while you _sleep_?"

"I'm not sleeping," he grumbles.

She laughs under her breath.

"Okay, I understand your point, now, will you please sit down?"

She smiles triumphantly and plops herself next to him. He tucks his elbows into his sides and places his hands on his chest, looking too much like a body in a coffin, so she reaches over for his right arm and loops it with her left in the tight space between them.

"My true form was approximately as large as your Chrysler building," he says after a minute of silence. "It was always strange to be…limited to this vessel. But the permanence of having…" he trails off, opening his eyes and she's distracted by trying to compare the blue of his eyes to the blue of the sky.

"There are things I undoubtedly miss about being an angel," he continues, "but I must say, experiencing the world as a human is not without its glory."

She bites her bottom lip and slides her hand down his arm so she can slowly lace their fingers together.

He hums, a smile on his face. "Glorious."

She sits up and swings a leg over his hips and straddles him. He opens his eyes and puts his hands on her thighs, right above her knees.

"I'm not going to break," she says, rolling eyes as she takes his hands and places them higher on her thigh.

His pupils dilate at as he tightens his hold on her thighs. "So fragile, though…" he murmurs.

"So are you."

He sits up suddenly and she inhales sharply when his chest presses against hers. "Although I will admit there is a remarkable strength that humans are capable of on certain occasions."

She points a finger at him, pressing a little into his chest, over his heart. "You're a good example of it."

He cocks his head to the side as he wraps an arm around her waist, pushing her closer to him. "I was under the impression that I was rather weak, according to your criticisms during training."

"It's called motivation."

"Hm." He leans his head forward so his nose brushes hers. "How?" he asks, quiet, and she can tell his genuinely curious, maybe something more serious than that in the way his jaw tightens and his forehead rests against hers.

"Uh, well, you've been handling humanity pretty damn good."

"That doesn't count."

"Sure it does – humans don't do well with extreme changes like that. Being _less_ than what they are." She pats his cheek to get him to look at her. "You're an awesome human. One of the best."

He turns his head so he can briefly kiss the palm of her hand.

"Even though you _really_ need to learn pop culture references faster because that's seriously –"

Cas actually _rolls his eyes_ and places a single finger over her mouth. "Patience, young grasshopper."

She's so fucking close to saying _I love you_ , it's right on the tip of her fucking tongue because _oh my fucking God_ , but sticking her tongue in his mouth is much better idea (maybe he'll taste the words on her tongue and just know).

**

Deanna teaches Cas to drive and he's a speed demon, once he catches the hang of it – he gets a glint in his eyes that pretty much makes her want to fuck him senseless, but she's still working him up to that. There's something to be said about going to slow and frankly, she's enjoying the head she's giving and getting.

Sam buys his school supplies and finds a roommate to share an apartment with, a soldier just returning from Iraq, figuring that the both of them will have enough baggage to not ask questions.

Bobby remains a comforting constant and she's going to miss him once they all leave his house.

"I figured we can help move Sammy in, then work our way east, give you a proper tour of the USA," she says to Cas, trying not to fidget too much as she reads her book on Bobby's porch in the unforgiving August heat, but Cas, shirtless, is trying to paint her and he get snippy when she moves too much. Not that it matters – whenever he paints her or Bobby or Sam, he really paints their souls, shining beyond the confines of their bodies.

(Hers always takes up the whole fucking canvas, which would be embarrassing except it's mostly just overwhelming, how he used to see her and _still_ manages to see her, despite being blind to her soul now.)

"That sounds nice. I think I would like to go to a beach, too," Cas answers thoughtfully. "To see the ocean with human eyes will be a humbling experience."

"We'll have to get you a swimsuit."

Cas smiles a little. "I don't believe I know how to swim."

"I'll teach you. I taught Sam how to swim no problem."

"You almost let me drown the first lesson!" Sam yells from inside the house where he's studying to refresh his memory.

She rolls her eyes. "It was a very effective tactic. Why don't you mention your stunt back in…what, Colorado? You joined the swim team for a month and beat some douche's record? Bitch," she yells back.

"Jerk!"

She smiles innocently at Cas. "You'll be fine."

He narrows his eyes at her before focusing on the canvas. "Would you mind looking?" he asks her.

She puts her book down on the porch and walks over, standing behind him. The Enochian symbols of his garrison have healed nicely on his spine, in between his scars. He has a bit of sunburn on the back of his neck from yesterday when Sam was teaching him how to use his laptop outside. She places her hands on his sweat-slick shoulders and looks at the painting, surprised that she can actually see the outline of her body this time, and the worn exterior of Bobby's house, the dead grass out in the horizon. She leans in closer and grins in realization.

"My soul still takes up the whole goddamn canvas," she says, finding the purples and greens and golds and blues of her soul in the grass she's laid out in for hours, where she played catch with Bobby when she was small and thought she can be a good son, and in the wooden panels of the porch, where she drinks with her family every week, stained with beer and whiskey and now paint, Cas making his permanent mark. "It's great," she states.

He cranes his head to smile at her, like her opinion is gold and she doesn't know a damn thing about art. Maybe there are a million things wrong with it and a legitimate artist or whatever would tear it apart, but.

"Does it have a title?"

"No, do you have any ideas?" he asks, painting _Cas_ in the bottom corner of the canvas.

"Not really. I suck with that kind of stuff."

"Well, it doesn't have to be decided on today," he says, getting to his feet, carefully holding the canvas away from his body.

She's suddenly reminded of a Talking Heads lyric: _it's hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting, could be so much fun, heaven is a place where nothing ever happens_ and fuck that sarcastic bullshit; heaven may not be a _place on earth_ (Christ, she hates that song), but _this_ , whatever the fuck a life is living with the ex-antichrist brother who's trying to earn a law degree, an alcoholic, semi-retired hunter who can be such a fucking cockblock, but is the closest she's ever known to having a good dad, and an angel-turned-fallen-angel-turned-super-angel-turned-human who rocks her fucking world when he laughs with his entire body and has so much heart that it terrifies her for both their sakes, it's all pretty damn close to her kind of Heaven, Paradise, Eden, whatever. 

"Nah," she says in agreement, heading inside the house for a shower and a beer.

FINIS.


End file.
